The ducks at the bottom of the garden weren't dancing today, just fighting over the food, and I wish they wouldn't. We now have three pochards on the river, (a duck with a gray back and an orange-brown head) but they flew away before I got there. They haven't learned what the other ducks know - that the woman in the wellies brings food.
Over the holidays I have read 'The Scent of Water' by Elizabeth Goudge, another simple yet profound tale and a good read. It's an American edition - sadly, like so many great British writers, she's out of print over here.
I have an idea for a story for quite young children, a picture book. Can't tell you much about it at this stage, but the idea kicked in about a month ago and grew stronger, and grew roots and branches, so I think it will work and I'll play with it today. But I've lost count of the ideas that don't grow roots and branches, that seem brilliant, but never grow into anything worth doing. Ideas are like seedlings. The strong ones thrive, the rest wither.
I suspect this applies to ideas in all areas, not just writing stories. Some of them turn out to be flashes of sunlight, some are lasting visions. Is that what you find?
A Happy New Year, and as the Scots say, 'Lang may yer lum reek.'. I can provide a translation in the next post if you like. I promise it isn't anything rude.
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