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The ducks were everywhere today on the Waters of Leith. Some still in their eggs. Others ran rapids on floaty down, somehow not freezing or capsizing. One nearly got worked in a drain hole, but I grabbed him and thought about keeping him as a cheeping bath toy. In the wash worn flood bank, no joke, a moa femur subfossil. From somewhere up the urban canyon, it had rolled 500 years ago at least. Labels on drifted fossil finds like this say 'float.' Kept warm last night by a driftwood fire. Spring, windy. Wind always makes me think of Scoraig and its windmills and its amazing floating people. John the drystone waller hauls up a good sunrise one December morning at the latitude of Juneau, picking up a half ton of hay from the mainland. His boat a duckling in the loch.
Little Loch Broom, Ross-shire, Alba
cotton candy sky
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