Friday May 8th 2015
I should give
thanks to the Wood Duck, or more properly two
photographs of Wood Duck. A girl Wood Duck considering
the possibilities of a nest site, she didn't look happy
about it, and I too could see problems with it. And boy
Wood Duck who was reaching that point where he didn't
really care any longer where the nest sight was so long
as there was some kind of nest. Wood Duck's nest in
holes higher up on the trunks of trees, so there's
some leaping required from the Ducklings.
Ducks nesting in trees share the anomaly that for your
writer of pulp has become Chapter Seventeen. And here
there's a fine example of decrepitude and mental decline
following higher than anticipated heat and snurk factor and
a general sense of having lost the Springtime. Can never be
certain whether the expression is "Can't see the wood for
the trees!" or something completely different. Either way
The Windral will end with "Water Tanks and Marching Songs."
So peace and joy to Wood Ducks, their photographer and your
writer of pulp.