Old Jack…you know, I haven’t seen him for a year, maybe more.
He used to sit here, on this seat on the bank, every day. He’d sit here and feed the ducks.
Always ducks around his feet, scooping up the bread he’d bring, pooping it out everywhere.
I know some folks got uppity about Jack feeding the ducks, making this stretch of bank messy and busy with flies but he didn’t do any harm, sitting here with his bag of bread, a bottle of his favourite tipple tucked under his arm.
Now all’s left is his bottle.
I miss you, Jack.
crispina kemp 
Pour Jack, very empethaticly told…
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Thank you. It is true, last year/year before that place was busy with ducks, and ducks’ doings. So we assume someone was feeding them. Now the bank is green and the ducks are gone. 😊
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My pleasure. A pity about the ducks.
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They’re probably healthier wherever they are. Plenty of secluded waterways around here
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Ah Jack… your time came and went. Just know someone remembered you fondly.
Nicely told tale, Crispina.
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Thank you , Dale.
There was someone…never met. And maybe they were a Jill, not a Jack. But they are no more. My tribute the local who used to feed the ducks
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Then Jack (or Jill) is remembered in a way…
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Yes. By me, though probably by local villagers as well
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Exactly!
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🙂
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Very moving story Crispina
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Thank you, Sadje. As I just told Dale, it’s done as a tribute to whoever the local person was who used to feed the ducks around there 😊😊😊
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You’re welcome! Yes, we must acknowledge their contributions
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😊😊😊
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👍🏼👍🏼👍🏼
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A very fitting tale
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Thank you 😊😊
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A sense of tranquility in this shot reflected in my thoughts at https://bobfairfield.org/2022/09/09/crimsons-creative-challenge-200-consequences/
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