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  The evening was one of those that come back to you
time after time, year after long year. It comes back
and whispers of how good life can be when you’re well
fed, enjoying life, and a good friend shares the front
porch with you on a summer’s evening.
  It was that way with Doc and Steve the other night.
Doc thought he might have to do a scientific paper on
the soporific effects of ice tea, fried chicken, and
corn on the cob. As long as it didn’t take any effort.
  So when this huge meal had been bull-snaked down,
the two grinning friends came out to the porch to
watch the sun go down behind the trees along Lewis
Creek. The air had that orange and russet glow, and
the breeze, that little one that caresses the neck,
came slowly down from the hills and made their shirt
collars wiggle ever so slightly.
  It was like taking a dry bath in paradise.
  Doc sidled up to one of the porch posts and gently
tested it to see if it could hold the extra weight he
was carrying with that meal. It stood fine, so he
leaned against it seriously and looked out on the
evening’s warmth.
  Steve, who was enjoying having a fine meal that
someone else cooked for a change, leaned against the
post on the other side of the steps.
  And then they just stood quietly, watching the day
make beautiful skies as it ended.
  The shadow on the ground foretold the presence of
the circling bird. Doc and Steve paid no attention at
first. Then a few minutes later, it was joined by two
more circling birds over Doc’s house.
“Buzzards,” Steve mumbled.
“Yep,” said Doc.
They circled some more.
“I think one of us should move a little …” said Doc.
“Move?”
“Well … to let them know … you know.”
Steve sighed, then glanced over at Doc. “Flip you
for it.”

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