Vulture by Ray Scanlon
The vulture floats up from below me, pausing to look me in the eye, perhaps appraising my lifespan: not short enough. She continues to rise, a sublime bird, brown in reflected sunlight, beautiful in her thermal-soaring grace and finesse, beautiful in her power and nonchalance in the teeth of a forty-mile-an-hour wind, terrifying in her diet of putrid carrion. I watch her, beguiling consort of death, for hours.
Ray Scanlon was born, grew up, and lives in Massachusetts. Recently his writing has appeared at Tiny Lights, Camroc Press Review, and Writers’ Bloc. He has grandchildren, extraordinary luck, and a vanity web site at http://read.oldmanscanlon.com.