As I write this, there are three buzzards perched in the still-bare pecan tree across the road. They seem to be looking at me. Don’t get me wrong: I have nothing against buzzards. There are a lot of buzzards around here, in town and in country. In fact, these three buzzards in particular (I’m assuming) perform the most incredible aerial ballet over my house almost every afternoon. I sit on the front porch and watch the expansive and hefty birds soar effortlessly and wish, like a kid, that I could do that. I just try to remember to move around now and then.