The unending continuation of the seasons is an absorbing mystery. How did everything get so arranged that there is fall, winter, spring and summer? How does it all fit together so precisely? How does each piece know to play its part?<BR><BR>The pond by the side of the road, which we pass every day, had a pair of mallards on it as soon as there was open water. Then, as the season moved into spring, they were gone. Well, the drake was gone. The hen was there but hidden away in last year’s marsh grass. Twice in early May she was visible so we knew she had to be hanging around, nesting probably.<BR><BR>Then, the last week of May, she appeared with four tiny, brown ducklings. Why four? Who knows? Usually there are nine or so, but her brood was just four. Maybe a mink or an otter picked off the rest. In any event, mama mallard and the chicks exhibited all the signs of fright.