It was a depressing day. Overcast from the beginning, and then, disconsolately, apathetically, it began to rain. I puddled my way over to university to hand in my Aufsatz with an umbrella over my head and my cuffs dragging in the mud. I should have worn the boots.

On the way, I passed a crow tearing at the carcass of a duck in the gutter. Feathers were sprayed in the direction of traffic. Hit and run, case closed, your Honour. I thought of American Beauty and wondered if he would find this dead bird so beautiful.

The creek was high and awash with muck, though not so much as it might have been. It rains so frequently these days, things barely have a chance to dry out or build up. Like the world is trying to wash itself clean.

Then I saw the ducklings, little balls of fluff coloured like their parents, gambolling through the grass and tugging at it with tiny beaks. It's hard to be depressed in the presence of ducklings.