glimmerings of goodness

 

Bob and Grace approach on the lake, their seven babies spread out between them, Grace in front Bob at the rear of the flotilla.

So they've hatched.

The County Council have moved quickly and erected "Aire! Ealai ag trasnu," signs on the roadside.

Beware! Swans Crossing.

The people of this town have an affinity for the swans and tend to treat their familial waddlings in procession across the roads between the first and middle lake, as a priority over the human road users.

The ghost of Hans Christian Anderson appears beside me.

"Hans," I exclaim, "you must have been mad to call baby swans ugly."

He raises his hands helplessly.

"Achhh you are right Heelers" he says. "Zere is no such thing as ugly. God made all of us and he made no mistakes. But it vas necessary for ze story to have ze baby swan regarded as ugly by ozzers and by himself. It is ze way zese tzings vork."