It’s Grant’s turn, but he’s sleeping. Thank goodness he’s silent. He was beginning to drive me mad.

The walk to the pond was green, like the rest of our island. Normally I would have expected to see birds, but there were no traces of them, save a brightly colored feather peeking out here and there, from inside a hole of tree, from behind a clump of rocks, wherever they thought they could find shelter from the approaching storm.