Vultures


When we got back to the dock after our harrowing adventure in the Everglades (attempting to outrun a humungous storm! failing! sideways rain to the face! a four-way hug for body warmth! singing a short but rousing rendition of row row row your boat!), we were tired and thirsty and cold and wet and gross. We changed in the tiny bathroom, reveling in peeling off wet bathing suits.

When I stepped out I felt so much better, mostly because Adam promised me that soon I would be drinking the best key lime milkshake I’ve ever had (and indeed, the man did deliver). I turned the corner and saw this, a vulture convention! I forgot about my misery and ran for my camera. It almost made up for not getting to wrestle any alligators.

Almost.