Not likely. But a large bread roll has just fallen out of the sky. It happened just as I passed the kitchen window, fell as quickly as an oversize snowflake, bounced, nested against a mossy brick. I'd only come downstairs to make a cup of tea. Now I faced a metaphysical puzzle. Joan next door, who has recently taken to walking with a cane, could, I supposed, have gotten overzealous with her bird feeding. But lobbing anything at that angle, over two roofs, would have taken a miracle of strength at any age. What then? Dissatisfied airline passenger? Some new post-graffiti expression of youth?
The squirrel that scrambled along to retrieve his fumbled lunch didn't look like he needed it much. His body ballooned like he'd already swallowed a bread role whole. The way he preened with this one between his teeth, atop the fence post, on the high branch of the apple tree, it seemed just the trophy he needed.
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