The little islands of shrubbery in the parking lot of the grocery store I patronize are inhabited by tiny grey field mice. On Saturday evening I saw one dart out after a cricket and then dart back. Sunday evening, therefore, before shopping, I cruised slowly around the little islands and looked closely. I saw a total of fifteen little grey field mice. I tried to send them telepathic signals of friendship, but I’m not sure if they can receive human wavelengths nor whether I have such talents nor whether such powers exist. Most of the mice looked fairly friendly and open-minded, but one of them had a sinister affect and eyes that darted to and fro. They should watch out for that one, the one I’ve dubbed Lucian. Lucian has large ambitions and will stop at nothing to see them fulfilled. I am certain of this, and it makes me worry for Percival and Ethelia and especially for young Crispin.
In unrelated news, it’s been hot. Too hot. I often think to myself, “Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines.” I wish his gold complexion would more often be dimmed, and that more often would a fair from fair decline and be untrimmed by chance or perhaps by nature’s changing course. Do you ever feel this way?
The Mice of Albertson’s Archipelago are excited to have received a correspondence from cousin Nathaniel. He is passing through on important business, sent by the Mouse King William, and wants to stay for a day. Crispin can hardly wait to hear Nathaniel’s stories, which are always so exotic and full of adventure. Percival is worried, however. He’s heard rumblings of trouble stirring in the fields and fears Nathaniel may bear dark tidings. Lucian said something in the council yesterday about changes, and he grinned that sly, disturbing grin, glancing about to and fro.
Hello, friends. I hope you’re well.
Later. Love.
