Inge Perreault
Joy, humor, love, and irony make themselves known in this enchanting collection of short stories and poems about nature, animals, and country living in general.
From the heartwarming story of Doni, in which the author, having raised a duck from an egg, documents each magical stage of its life; to the humorous story of Martha the groundhog, a critter viewed by most country people as a real pest. This book brings forth one story after the next from a writer who has a real connection to the earth and its creatures.
You can almost see the horse in "Horse Nibbles" and can feel the magic of walking at night in the falling snow as "Snow Walks" so wonderfully describes.
The world could benefit if everyone would just slow down, pick up this book, be moved, and give thanks for the wonder all around us.
INGE PERREAULT is a writer with enormous reach and diversity. Whether she writes poetry or prose, short stories based on fact or fiction, newspaper commentaries with a keen sense of humor and social criticism, the most important fact shining through is her passion for the relevant subjects.
She was born and raised in a country setting in Europe and through her grandparents and parents developed a love of nature that has only deepened in the ensuing years as she raised her own children. Having written for various national publications, periodicals and newspapers, the response she received from readers, encouraged her to combine some of these short stories in her first book. The title says it all!
Inge Perreault can be reached at
www.ingeperreault.com.
Due to my passion for birds I have become a pretty good weather forecaster. I know when a storm is approaching, be it a blizzard or a summer storm, mostly way ahead before the professionals on TV. I can tell when winter or spring will start by watching for the Canadian geese which migrate right over my house. As luck would have it, we seem to have built our house right under the main flight path. Usually, sometime during the first week of October, I will hear in the distance a familiar honking, and after looking around and waiting for a while, the well known V formation of these magnificent animals will fly right overhead due south. Depending on the jet stream the migration will continue with flock after flock moving through for days. Then I know that 6 weeks later the cold weather can be expected. The same scenario will repeat itself in the northern direction in late March. The birds are always correct, and I have learned to distinguish by now between the "locals" and the ones which are on their way to distant places. I always wish them well on their journey, and there are times I would just love to travel with them. Another wonderful indicator of the changing seasons is the first sighting of the blue heron. They always make me think of prehistoric birds, a leftover from a time when the earth was young. The gathering of the starlings in the fall is likewise a phenomenon, which I enjoy immensely. They will appear in never ending waves, dipping and rising in an ancient dance. I always marvel that there never seems to be a collision, even though they fly so closely together. If only people could behave like that on the highways. There seems to be no "road rage" among our feathered friends.
But let me get back to some of the more intimate encounters I have had along the way, the ones which are just edged in my mind and heart because somehow I was able to give something back to the creatures, which have nurtured my soul for so long.
There was for instance the pigeon, which one morning, when I was driving my oldest son to school, was sitting in the middle of the road. He made no effort to get out of the way, so I stopped and got out of the car. He allowed me to pick him up without fear.
There did not seem to be any injury, he was just exhausted and he must have belonged to someone since he wore a band around his leg.
After dropping my son off at school I drove home with the bird sitting quietly on my lap and I placed him in a good-sized cardboard box with food and water. He ate and drank heartily, then fell into a deep sleep. Hours later, when he awoke, I could pick him up, and he would perch on my finger checking me out curiously. There was no fear. He was definitely a tame bird. Thinking he was well and recovered I took him outside to send him on his way, but he had no intention of leaving. He stayed with us for a week, eating, drinking and sleeping. Then one day, when I tried to give him his freedom again, he took wing, circled over the house three times to orient himself and flew off with my blessings.
