No surprise then to notice how the puffins’ eyes look sadder these days, if that’s even possible. Don’t let their clown mock unhappiness fool you; they are deadly serious, grieving for the gannets that are dying mid-plunge. It won’t stop the puffins enchanting themselves in their own collective noun: their improbability. They bring joy to cliff tops and we need joy more than ever. Even the gannets know this. But news comes in from a friend on Harris. The gannets are thriving there, in their plunging, their gannetry, their own cartoon reels.
Mark Connors
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