Our dear priest has given our children back to us, telling us it is our job to lead our children to reconciliation. He helps us to prepare for reconciliation ourselves, but then says, pass it on.
He likens it to a hen with her chickens.
So I bought a wee bantam hen and ten little chickens.
Henrietta Chook. Black, with gold flecks round her neck, a bright red crown and sharp black eyes.
She puffs herself up, and clucks quietly as she steps around the lawn. Her chicks peck at everything, chase flies, hop on her back, tuck away amongst her feathers when tired. She earnestly scratches in the earth, searching, searching, searching. Ah, a tidbit! Excitedly she calls, head bobbing, "dook, dook, dook, dook", tapping the ground with her beak. They drop everything, scamper over, a flurry of wings and peeps, to sample what she shows to be good.
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