In the last two days I’ve reaped a clutch of photos to share.
Being able to walk again is what’s gone and done it.
A walk alongside the sea
appreciating the colours and contrasts
and on the inlet, the ducks.
I’ve always had a soft spot for ducks. Many associations leap into my mind when I see them. I always think of my father and his fondness for them. And as a short person, I have been accused of having ‘duck disease’, with a bottom too close to the ground. Whatever. Pobody’s nerfect. (To quote a t-shirt slogan.)
A friend keeps nine ducks and I saw them all on Saturday. Nine very fat ducks waddling and quacking together in a group. They made me smile. What is the collective noun for ducks I wondered? One source informs that it is a waddling if they are on the ground and a raft if they are on the water.
The grey heron was back today, sporting its particular brand of precise elegance.
The other day, gale force winds stripped these eucalyptus trees of any excess bark.
Colours to inspire a line of winter knitwear.
My walks are still not pain free, but it is a fine thing indeed to be semi-mobile again.
11th Letter In 