waiting for Millard

Looks who’s appeared at the feeding station:

When I arrived I was promised ducks.

Ducklings, in fact, nesting on the lawn.   There has never been any sign of them.  Until now.  After annoying all the jackdaws, and standing off a magpie, Dux quacked for a while then took his leave, soaring towards the pond in an unhesitating curve around the church.

I’m hoping he’s gone to get her…
that ducklings may yet arrive.

Molly, of course,  is much less clear on the desired course of events.
It’s the quacking (and the fact that she can’t chase them).

hedgehogs, bluebells, and twitchy tails

Late at night, after a long but productive vestry meeting, I find myself pondering the following:

  1. if hedgehogs could learn to be quiet, would they need so many spikes?
  2. do pain and healing grow up together like nettles and dock leaves?
  3. were the blue bells more intense this night or last, and did they miss me?

Molly, is here now, and she says:

  1. are you ever coming?  you said you were,  and then you didn’t.
  2. if you don’t come soon, I’ll get cross and go away.  And then you’ll be sorry.
  3. (and so will I, but not as much as you)