There was a graceful young swan on the river in Saltaire, watching me warily. At least it didn't turn its back on me like they usually do. It looked rather attractive, gliding leisurely through the summery greens and golds reflected in the water. The young mute swans have much paler beaks than the adults, whose beaks are quite a bright orange. This one still had some buff coloured feathers among the white as well. It is probably one of last year's brood. I'd be surprised if this year's cygnets have reached this size yet. An 'ugly duckling' gradually growing into a swan... as perhaps we all are.
'I do not at all understand the mystery of grace. Only that it meets us where we are
and does not leave us where it found us.'