Just inside the trees, a young male turkey displays in silence, passing through a sunbeam, stalking slowly up the old woods road brandishing his tail.

Another impeccably clear morning with tree leaves looking as if they grew overnight. A hen turkey cluck-cluck-clucks into the woods.

Mid-morning, and the sun looks almost as if it might come out. A turkey gobbles right below the other house, puffing out his chest feathers.

Overcast and still. The gobbling of a wild turkey up in the field echoes off the ridge—a startling thing to hear once, let alone twice.

A hen turkey going past the house catches sight of me and freezes. Nervous clucks, then the huge bird taking flight with surprising grace.