As I started my morning walk I met a brave and curious Robin and we traveled together for some distance. Myself, busily sleighing the roaring dragons of the road. While it secreted itself, at intervals, along the hedge. The Robin was obviously mindful of the potentially lethal ape ambling aimlessly along the black asphalt ribbon which carries the detritus of our dying civilization. Robins are rarely seen in Denmark. Being of a shy nature, quite unlike those of Gravely Blighted. Where they will often take worms from the human hand and perch [selfishly] near a toiling gardener. I sorely miss their tinkling laughter at the total absurdity of human behaviour.
A number of the trees had been cracked off at various heights of their muscular trunks. Presumably by a ferocious but unseen wind. For only a Godzilla would have had the power to brush aside such tall and impressive trees with complete impunity. An unfortunate wind may have been channeled between the wall of trees and the rearing hillside in a sort of Venturi effect. One which had lead to the demise of a number of the towering, evergreen specimens.
Several Mallards decided to be afraid and took off in a tightly grouped formation for an exploratory circle over their claimed territory. Perhaps intending to discover, hopefully from a safe distance, whether I intended to loiter with menaces. A foolish tactic which has always found in favour of the blood-thirsty gun toters from the very beginnings of duck legend and fable. Duck are obviously as incapable of learning from their mistakes as is the human race. I walked on as casually as possible with my capped head bowed well down. My artifice was to give the impression that I had not seen them. Nor cared for their very public show of obvious alarm. The scattered shotgun cartridges on the shoreline should not have convinced any normally paranoid duck. That my intentions were any other than the purest voyeurism.