we are seven

sunrise:  4:55

Happy news!  The mallards that were lingering on the pond early this spring did not abandon the area after all.  We have baby ducks.  I only saw them in fleeting flurries of ruffled water the first few times, since they rush into the reeds so quickly when the dogs and I show up. 

This morning I got a good look and a full count - there are seven!  They're pretty big ducks by now - about half the size of their mother.  I wonder if they spent their tiny ducklinghood elsewhere, or if they have just laid low in the mornings before now.  Alas - I was too slow with the camera once again.  I'll keep trying.

I'm sort of glad, now, that the dogs terrorized that cat the other day.  Cats have wreaked havoc with our duckling population in years past.  If that cat is scared to return, so much the better.

I include a little Wordsworth for you this morning, which came to my mind because of the 7 ducklings.  It is a charming tale of childhood innocence (and adult pig-headedness, I'd say).  One cool thing about Wordsworth is that he kept journals, so we know that he actually met a young girl in the countryside that intrigued him, though he never learned her name. 

Here is the poem, by William Wordsworth, written in 1798:

WE ARE SEVEN

A SIMPLE Child,dear brother Jim
          That lightly draws its breath,
          And feels its life in every limb,
          What should it know of death?

          I met a little cottage Girl:
          She was eight years old, she said;
          Her hair was thick with many a curl
          That clustered round her head.

          She had a rustic, woodland air,
          And she was wildly clad:                                    10
          Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
          --Her beauty made me glad.

          "Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
          How many may you be?"
          "How many? Seven in all," she said
          And wondering looked at me.

          "And where are they? I pray you tell."
          She answered, "Seven are we;
          And two of us at Conway dwell,
          And two are gone to sea.                                    20

          "Two of us in the church-yard lie,
          My sister and my brother;
          And, in the church-yard cottage, I
          Dwell near them with my mother."

          "You say that two at Conway dwell,
          And two are gone to sea,
          Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
          Sweet Maid, how this may be."

          Then did the little Maid reply,
          "Seven boys and girls are we;                               30
          Two of us in the church-yard lie,
          Beneath the church-yard tree."

          "You run about, my little Maid,
          Your limbs they are alive;
          If two are in the church-yard laid,
          Then ye are only five."

          "Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
          The little Maid replied,
          "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
          And they are side by side.                                  40

          "My stockings there I often knit,
          My kerchief there I hem;
          And there upon the ground I sit,
          And sing a song to them.

          "And often after sunset, Sir,
          When it is light and fair,
          I take my little porringer,
          And eat my supper there.

          "The first that died was sister Jane;
          In bed she moaning lay,                                     50
          Till God released her of her pain;
          And then she went away.

          "So in the church-yard she was laid;
          And, when the grass was dry,
          Together round her grave we played,
          My brother John and I.

          "And when the ground was white with snow,
          And I could run and slide,
          My brother John was forced to go,
          And he lies by her side."                                   60

          "How many are you, then," said I,
          "If they two are in heaven?"
          Quick was the little Maid's reply,
          "O Master! we are seven."

          "But they are dead; those two are dead!
          Their spirits are in heaven!"
          'Twas throwing words away; for still
          The little Maid would have her will,
          And said, "Nay, we are seven!"