Ducks, Ducks

There appears to be some kind of warp in the space-time continuum.  Time moves slowly, then much too quickly, and not everything that should get done, actually does get done.  Herself feels once more as if she's being pecked to death by ducks.  Many blunt beaks, all at once.  PeckPECKPECKpeckitypeckPECKpeck.

On the horizon, though, are things to which she looks forward.  Details will follow soon.

A mallard duck, found at National Geographic.