Blue and I look up from our walk along the ridge to see vultures hanging over us, sixteen of them rising in circles on a thermal. As serenely as birds rising on a thermal they circle over us.
One breaks the circle sharply, swerves at another, they engage, they separate.
The upward circling continues. One bird is only half the size of the others. Half the size and paler. Mottled brown.
Upward they circle, black vultures and a sharp-shinned hawk, circle warily now until the fifteen vultures slip as one out of the thermal, slide across the valley to the north, leave the one to rise alone and sharp-shinned against the white and gibbous moon to the west.