Vulture came to me first through a beautiful young Black Vulture that I had found injured on the road. My daughter named her Blackberry but as I was driving home with her in the back of the van, the name Michael came to me. Vulture loved me in my dreams as a brash young god with dark hair, gangly and awkward but determined and courageous. His people roosted on the ground so that they could care for the orphans of other species. As I walked to him, I saw small vulture families cuddling up for the night with dogs, rabbits…anyone who needed their help.
Vulture has helped me greatly in letting go of pain that I have been hanging onto. In February a great mob of vultures gathered out here…hundreds and hundreds beyond counting. They flew in great spirals above the house, swooping silent and dark with wings tipped golden from the setting sun. We watched them open mouthed as they flew right over the top of the house, so close we could see the details of their wings and their heads facing downwards. Some flew so high they were barely specks in the sky. I will forever be grateful to Vulture and forever in awe of this mighty event that I witnessed in that magical time between the sun’s setting and the moon’s rising.
We gather from the four corners of the land and our wings catch the glow from the setting sun. Together we spiral into the high winds, peak and descend as another round of our people takes up the dance…for ages we have done this. We are timeless.