What do you call a baby swan? This question vexed us on Sunday while touring in the Cotswold. Garry and I had taken his Aunt and Uncle, Barbara and John, for a brief day trip through some of the region’s quaint villages. The answer? A signet. Why ask the question?
We were mesmerized by a swan shepherding her young in the stream along side the picture postcard shearer’s cottages of Arlington Row. Nearby, ducks were doing the same with their brood.
We had a wonderful day in the Cotswold, almost a year to the day since our last visit. The lambs were out in force across the rural landscape and our favourite villages remain as quaint as ever. We even had a lively pheasant stroll out into a quiet country lane we'd ventured down. We briefly stopped the car and watched this bold bird wander toward us. The experience was magic.
For me, the entire day was a refreshing interlude between a flight from New York and subsequent onward flight to Johannesburg for business. I’d literally landed at Heathrow on Saturday evening, driven Garry’s relatives to the Cotswold the following morning, before being dropped back at the airport for an evening flight.
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