We know it’s spring in Roswell when the buzzards come back and have their party right in the middle of town. They’re turkey vultures. They migrate. I don’t know where they go in the winter, but in the spring, they come to Roswell. Well, not all of them. This is just one of those places where a bunch of them, wait, what’s the group name? Okay, it’s a colony of vultures.
When it gets warm enough to make some nice updrafts off of the pavement of the city, they come gliding in from all over, I guess; in the course of a week or so, maybe two, more and more of them show up and gather until there are hundreds of them, wheeling around each other, swooping & dodging; clearly enjoying each other’s company. It’s not about food, there’s no feasting, nothing dead down there, no battlefield or anything like that.
You know how they find leaks in the natural gas pipelines that run across the prairie? They pump the smell of a dead rabbit through it & watch for the vultures to start circling.
But these guys here are partying. They like the historic district a few blocks off Main Street right in the center of town. When it gets dark they’ll roost in the tall old trees that don’t have leaves yet, on a nice street with really nice old houses, & crap all over the sidewalks & the street. Big nasty green shit. Lots of it. Then one day they’ll just be gone.