by James Tate<\/p>\n
I was standing at the kitchen sink washing
\na few dishes, when I hear this knocking at my door.
\nI looked out the window, but there was no one there.
\nBut the knocking continued.\u00a0 I looked down, and there
\nwas this wild turkey staring at me.\u00a0 He must have been
\nabout four feet tall, and he was looking right into
\nmy eyes.\u00a0 Then he pecked at my door again, and I
\ninstinctively opened it. He walked into the middle
\nof the room and said, “Gobble gobble gobble.” I poured
\nhim a bowl of dry cereal and another bowl of water.
\nHe tried the cereal and seemed to like it.\u00a0 He’d take
\nfour or five bites, and then wash it all down with a
\ncouple of sips of water. Then he’d look up at me
\nwith his blue head and his red and white mottled neck.
\nHe finished the cereal, then flapped his great wings
\nas if to thank me. His green iridescent feathers
\nglazed the room in a magical light.\u00a0 I walked into
\nthe living room, and he followed me.\u00a0 I sat down in my
\nchair, and he leapt up on the back of the couch.\u00a0 He had
\nthe meekest, almost beseeching eyes, that seemed to
\nsay, “Whatever you want to do next is fine by me.
\nI’m your guest, after all, and we’ve only just met,
\nthough I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime,
\nold friend, new friend, good friend.” “Gobble gobble
\ngobble,” I said.\u00a0 He didn’t reply, but turned his head
\naway and stared at the TV, which was off.\u00a0 We sat there
\nin silence for a good long time.\u00a0 Sometimes our eyes
\nmet, and we’d wander down those ancient hallways, a
\nlittle afraid, a little in awe.\u00a0 And then we’d turn away
\nhaving reached a locked door.\u00a0 He studied the room, too,
\nfor any clue, but it must have seemed so alien,
\nthe beautiful vases and bowls, the paintings, scraps
\nof a lost civilization.\u00a0 Hours passed like this.\u00a0 I felt
\nan immense calm within me.\u00a0 We were sleeping in a tree
\non an island in an unknown land.<\/p>\n
–Read at St. Lydia’s on November 28<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by James Tate I was standing at the kitchen sink washing a few dishes, when I hear this knocking at my door. I looked out the window, but there was no one there. But the knocking continued.\u00a0 I looked down, and there was this wild turkey staring at me.\u00a0 He must have been about four […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[9],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/435"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=435"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/435\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":437,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/435\/revisions\/437"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=435"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=435"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=435"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}