I refrain from comment as I look at the breakfast man about the house has cooked for himself. There is surely 2 days worth calories about to be consumed. I decide then and there to abandon the idea of the Sunday roast, and it frees up lots of lovely time. Some of which I spend pricking seedling, and catching up with friends.
Iridescent head gear gleaming to perfection. He has an air of an important vicar, as he leads his family down the lane. Meeting the busy road he halts, and turns to face them. Mother stops gathering her tiny ducklings close. He does not move nor do they. I say a silent prayer, as I realize even if I give way on this fast road others may not, and hope he thinks better of negotiating the junction. Cars stop for lollipop ladies but rarely for ducks. (corse with hindsight I kick myself for not leaping out and flagging cars to a halt like said crossing lady).
There is nothing like buttered toast topped with home made plum jam. It has been years since I indulged in the luxury of butter.
Bit of that
I do hope they all made it safely.
ReplyDeleteThere are a few toad crossing-places around here, some with proper road signs, but the sad number of little corpses shows that not many drivers respect them.
Good idea. I shall have google "toad crossing" now. And thanks for offer of friendly ear.
ReplyDelete