8th January 2020

My intentions for yesterday were to rise reasonably early and once more direct my steps to the wet and wild parkland so to fully sample the spectacle to which my appetite had been profoundly wetted the day prior. Predictably I awoke late, as tends to be my fate when important or pressing matters abound and was therefore obliged as soon as realization filtered into my befuddled noggin to put toes to carpet and prepare for and accomplish departure at haste.   

The weather had considerately deigned to somewhat relent, and although the day was still overcast the previously continuous rainfall had relented at minimum temporarily.  My attention darted hither and thither as I walked noting the strength and pace of any water in ditches, run offs and culverts. I was gratified to note a most promising reduction, even if not a reduction to the standard seasonal norm.

My approach to the entry to Moran was pregnant with anticipation. Having spotted a ‘race in progress’ board some distance ahead my heart was already pounding for some view of competitive zeal, disappointingly not one gaily adorned runner hove into sight. That whole area, except for some fluttering colored bunting, was evidentiarily bereft of any indicator that the event had even begun.

Somewhat despondent, but still with hope in my soul I set off down the hill in search of my quarry. Peering left and right for worm sign, like the intrepid Paul Atreides on planet Dune, I continued in my descent and having all but completed the second sweeping curve in the road found my eyes drawn to a sight most welcome. The hatch most appropriately afront the Moran hatchery was open, the interior lighting shining bright. My mind, momentarily distracted as I gazed into the building’s interior, was suddenly startled from its solemnity by a wonderous apparition that appeared in the periphery of mine left eye.  A runner fully bedecked in the most deliciously frightful fluorescent yellow strode or more accurately galumphed into view. This fine example of the genus ‘Homo Voce Habitus’ was rapidly trailed by two further bedazzled males and then a solitary female, easily recognizable by her more refined plumage of purely natural   shadings.

My Arthurian quest fully satisfied by this short but most fulfilling interspecies interaction I took myself across the road to enjoy the tranquility and solitude of the lakeside. Too much excitement on any given day can be wholly exhausting.

On another occasion I shall relate the tale of the Australian Shepherd slash Pyrenean cross there well met and the number and location of its toes.

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