Friday, May 8, 2015

Chapter Seventeen RIP

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. http://rockpiles.blogspot.com/2015/05/wood-ducks.html 

 And indeed 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.

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