One More

One More Ingredients are a funny thing. Timing is probably more important. But it is hard to say really. I cooked all day, but… I wanted it to be perfect, but… I thought I had it, but… The turkey refused to get in the pot. He looked at me like I was crazy. I guess I did not blame him, as I would not have thought it the best idea. I let him out of the cage early. I wanted to get to know him a little. I wanted this to be a mutually acceptable event. Yet, explaining that you have a plan, in which one of you will not be okay with the outcome, never goes well. I am here to tell you. Clearly. He looked at me, now free from the box. He could see the window(open), the door (ajar) and the floor, was just washed. In an instant I realized, The ingredient had found, a reason… not to want to be cooked. Maybe many? Turkeys fly, no lie. Not fast or slow, but erratically. First a smoldering present just for me, on my shining surface. Plop. Then a squawk, that I had not realized, I could understand, as if in English… I will not repeat… for mixed readers present. Off he went. High and low, and in between. He knocked off things I had not seen. Trouble on the rise, trouble already risen, feathers and flying not the same, as any other caged bird, as this one knew, to be free, he had a clue. So he flew.