Good morning and happy wednesday, hoddlers. it feels like i haven’t wished you all a happy wednesday since last week.

There is a park in Fairfield County, Connecticut, that I have visited often since Covid-19 breached the barriers of the United States. At the park are five benches, one man-made pond, two fountains and myriad trees that house rivalling factions of geese.

For the past two years your hoddler-in-chief has gingerly walked along the park’s goose-stool studded walkpath – in the autumn, the winter, the spring and the summer. And while time accelerated ever forward, and your hoddler-in-chief irreversibly aged, the goose stool remained the same. Green capsules dotted along the asphalt and grass orbited the oblong body of water.

And at approximately the same time every night the geese would honk, flap their wings and ascend into the skies to whatever their nocturnal destination may have been.

And so the seasons turned – winter, spring, summer and autumn.

In the winter…



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