presents

A GREAT
DAY

• Written by Francesco Muzzopappa
• Illustrated by Song Kang

TThe warm season has passed and the force that pushes the tree tops towards the sky has gone into hibernation with the rest of the forest.

The autumn wind brings the smell of melancholy to the desert streets. The sunlight gets entangled through the willow branches that look as if they are bowing to the first cold. Kentucky is known for days like this, when nothing happens except the passing of time and a few cars cutting through the silence of the roads.

In the thick of the woods, an orange carpet of crisp leaves welcomes the steps of Thomas McCarthy, a distillery executive, holding a box containing his own small bourbon stock tightly in his arms. Tomorrow a turkey hunt will take place.

Benjamin Franklin, a scientist and founding father of the US, believed the turkey was far more respectable than the bald eagle, the fierce and noble symbol officially chosen to represent the confederation of states.

In 1782 at the United States Congress, the bald eagle won, owing to its strength, courage, freedom and immortality, yet Franklin wanted to reiterate—in a letter to his daughter—that, by comparison, the turkey was a more honest bird, in addition to being “truly native to America.”

It is not by chance then that on Thanksgiving, the turkey stands as the symbol and the pillar of the celebration itself.

For the occasion, Thomas McCarthy has gathered his friends around a fire, a time to have a little chat and reflect on their lives. Using a stick, Thomas pushes a log towards the heart of the fire. The flames make the gnarl on the largest log crackle.

In the air, the fire puts on a pyrotechnical display of sparks that shoot into the air and then slowly, like fireflies, disperse into the dark.

Here, rules are rigorous, just like the winter frost. The seats closest to the fire are for the older ones, while the crackle of the fire echoes all around.

The intense smell of smoked meat comes from a shed nearby. A girl on the patio of the opposite house pushes herself back and forth on the swing, to the rhythm of a song playing on the radio.

Life stories that intertwine. Intense and penetrating gazes. And in such a true, pure moment, when the world seems to stand still and everything is perfect, what you need is a sign that seals the brotherhood, this commonality of spirits, the pleasure of being together for what really matters,

Wild Turkey is a perfect name: a symbolic prelude of an intense moment, the turkey hunt, which will have the taste of a great bourbon.

In unison, after raising their glasses, the group of friends repeats the name and moistens their lips with that taste of friendship.

The wind shakes the walnut tree down to its roots, lifting tiny stray swirls. The cold of the night seeps underneath the coats, and now it’s time to go back home, while the wind pushes the swing back and forth to the rhythm of the last steps.