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pathetic fallacy still firmly in place

In the early hours of this morning, walking back across Donnington Bridge; no wildlife this time. Too late in the morning perhaps. Instead, roadkill; a mashed blackbird, legs splayed, coiled intestines still pink with life. Waiting for the magpies. Dead birds again.

Talking to [colleague] at Witney Lakes, next to the planned lake, with the planned swans and the unplanned coots and her telling me about how she'd gone up to Leicester for her course and just ended up sat by the river and just couldn't stop crying for almost four hours, not knowing why or how. All she could think was: no cygnets. Where are the cygnets? And feeling stupid because they were only swans and surely it didn't matter. I told her that swans don't breed every year, because it takes three years for cygnets to grow up, and all my usual shit about all of it and she just smiled slightly, softly and told me about how she taken a baby bird from her cat and she'd held it in her hand and it chirped, just once, -- protesting the absolute unfairness of the world. And died.