So…t’day’s Thanksgiving. Turkey Day. Somethin’ bout celebratin’ some Pilgrims what settled in this country an’ managed to stay alive cuz some Indians came an helped ’em. They mighta starved, but they didn’t. They grew crops, like our gardens, an’ they hadda harvest, an’ they feasted for three days straight. Buncha Native Americans came an’ helped ’em too, an’ that was good, cuz they (the Native Americans) known how t’ make America land grow stuff but the Pilgrims didn’t have a clue. Least, not at first. So now we have a big dinner cuz we remember what they done an’ how they survive inna place they ain’t never seen afore. I guess they were mighty glad they ain’t starved–at least, the ones that were still alive. Wren says a bunch didn’t make it that long, either, an’ the feast was just with the ones that lived an’ their Native American friends.
Lotsa food, like sweet potato an’ green bean an’ cranberry an’ YUM. But the big piece is a roasted, toasted turkey. Turkeys are big birds, so it’s good for a big dinner. Right? Seems like. Anyhow, I’m kinda not sure how I feel bout it, cuz I’m named after a bird, an’ Wren is too, but traditions is traditions. Least they don’t eat Kestrels or Wrens or nothin’.
Still, made me feel knda sorry for all sortsa birds, so I took some bread out to the beach. It was warmer’n afore, which was awful nice, but there were lotsa people onna beach. An’ no birds. None.
I walked far far down one way. Nuttin’.
Then I turned around an went t’other way til I got to the pier.
I kept stoppin’ an lookin’ out atta waves, hopin’ maybe I’d see the pelicans from afore, but they wasn’t there. No pelicans. No seagulls. No sandpipers. No li’l plovers. No nuttin’. Dunno where alla birds went. Maybe they heard was Turkey Day an’ they hid. Wouldn’t blame ’em none.
So I turned ’round an’ went back. Didn’t even bother stoppin’ t’look for shells. There were so many people. An’ the sun was beatin’ hot like it should, like it was parta the hot hot place of South Carolina. I liked that. There were people fishin’ too, just castin’ lines out inna ocean an’ waitin’ for a fish t’nibble. Maybe I outta worry bout the fish too? Nah. Dunno no fish-bake holiday times.
Then, alla sudden, I saw a shadow onna sand. An I looked up. An’ there it was: the lone bird of Thanksgiving day!
I tossed it alla bread I had an’ went home happy.