A slow day

When I woke up this morning, and peered out the window, it was clear the delinquent ducks were out again. 

As if it was not crystal clear to me, a lady came and knocked on my door. 'Your ducks are out by the road.' She told me sternly. 'That is dangerous, you ought to take better care!' 

Yeah, like I hatched them and tossed them out to live in a ditch. Spoiled little puddle jumpers. 

No more nice mama! I put these little escape artists behind bars.

They stand and quack indignantly, as I thwart their attempts to eat my strawberries, and defile my welcome mat. Well, welcome mat number two, I threw out the first one, it was just too gross, and had no more welcome left. 

Off they have gone into the field, certain they will find a new way out. A new way back to the tarmac, and the front garden of strawberry bounty.

Today, is a soup sort of day. Sort of wet, grey, and slow.

The air smells fresh and clean.

Everybody seems to be taking their time, which makes it a perfect day to go into town.

 That is town for us, a little village on a big pier.

There is a shop which sells old fish, sugar, and canned goods made by kraft back in the 80's. Seriously. It is like an aladdin's cave into my childhood. Shelves and shelves of stuff that was sold in Canada at Safeway when I was like 6. Somehow, it floated across the Atlantic and ended up in the converted cottage, that now serves as a shop, since the old one burnt down, long before we came here. 

Things like hubba bubba (remember that stuff in like 7Up flavour, bleurg!) and fruit roll ups. They have mac and cheese, jello, and tang.

A friend from up the island brought many a flower for us to plant. So with what blessing thy free bounty gives, we shall not cast away. 

I must go out and find a nice bit of earth for these seedling to grow up in.