That title stuck in my head on Saturday……actually, it’s a Renaissance song.
But Saturday, it was literal…the turkey vultures were actually flying over my head, landing in the neighboring field.
There must have been some tiny soul’s decomposing body there….maybe a feral cat, or the carcass of a deer or skunk.
In Gettysburg, in 1863, the whole town smelled of death.
Death has a unique smell; since moving to a farmhouse, I am familiar with it.
At my farm, I recognize the smell when a little mouse takes his last breath and is decomposing nearby.
I cannot imagine the smell of death that passed over my field in 1863. It lingered for months and months.
I am overwhelmed by the smell of one tiny mouse; how could the residents of 19th Century Gettysburg have continued with their routines and lives among the stench of death.
I suppose the vultures flew high during those July days in 1863.