In the depth of it all, past the hink and the honkity honk of tattle tales only bred in the belly of their own back biting, Shingebiss lives. And even when, from time to time, confined to a blushing violet puddle, puddle duck lives! Puddle Duck sees life and knows love and cries and moans and laughs the truth at least, a-joined to sea and sky by the victory of resourceful coloured paper chains that mean togetherness. For it is those that survive a harsh winter as such who can look up and not as much down on folks. And looking up is so often the wonder of more. So then I might not mind to be puddle duck or the pelicans from my favourite childhood tale who, depending on the day, in the storm or the lull, live in that puddle or that vast outdoor morning bath in the great symphony of the bird call to each new day.
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