Winter is approaching. We know this because the turkeys are desiring community. We know this because of our new methods for reaching into the sky. There was a time for tweezers. There was a time for forks as well. These are no longer those times. Our skies are testing our grasp on skies. How we are able to get a hold. Be gotten a hold. Turkeys increase their tail size. You see they want to be held. Even that way.

We have reached our dream center. Our ability to question our abilities. What lights do we look best under? Do we look best under anything at all? I don't know.

The turkeys are swarming now and we are beginning to feel a part of something bigger. We may not look best under these lights, but we do believe we look warm. We look warm and therefore have something to offer. To proffer. Turkeys, we say, our arms are long and appropriately hinged. We can hold all sorts of things, even if the sky escapes us.

The turkeys look at us queerly. They warble a few pleasantries and like you opening the jar I've struggled with for so long, they take the sky. We are intrigued and incapable of hiding and realizing it's time to edit that page in Wikipedia. The one that says nothing about what has just happened. This is stuff, we agree, the world needs to know.