This morning the clean up crew is roosting in a tall dead tree across the bridge that gets you over Percha Creek into Hillsboro, New Mexico.

This tree is dead as their breakfast and gives the buzzards a good place to open wings and catch the sun’s heat, talk about yesterday’s trips over hillsides, tell grisly buzzard jokes.

Buzzards are a part of western living. In the evening, before the sun goes down, you watch them gliding on updrafts of wind off the hillsides, not in a hurry, conserving energy.

This morning they look big and healthy and well fed.

Buzzards don’t mess with the living and these tree branches remind me of mastodon bones picked clean at the last town Bar- B- Que. 

Buzzards, for those who haven’t been paying attention, share many things in common with the humans residing in Hillsboro..

Even if you don’t see them, there are lots of residents in coveralls waiting in these tree branches for the next person to move up to the town graveyard on the hill.





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