there were six swan boats out on the pond in the public garden yesterday, but only two swans. esme and i had had tea - salmon, dill and cream cheese sandwiches, crumpets and devonshire cream and raspberry preserves, monk's blend - a black tea flavoured with vanilla and grenadine - at the tealuxe on newbury st (although now esme has put into my head the thought of afternoon tea at the ritz-carlton or the four seasons - oh i do so wish we could do that one day!) before walking through the public garden. picnickers, and lovers, and children, and big dogs, and people with books under the trees. we passed someone on the violin and another playing an indian hand drum, and there were roses in bloom and willows trailing their arms in the water, mallards letting you have a peek at their rich blue speculum feathers. it was warm, and jolly, and there were people selling ices and nuts and hotdogs. louis the swan slept in the bathtub of the ritz and ordered watercress sandwiches, one with mayonnaise and eleven without, and played his stolen trumpet and pined for his serena. but swans in the flesh are rather frightening creatures. they're all right when they're in the water but when you see them on land, their necks are rather grotesque, and when moved about seem like some terrifying white python beginning to uncoil. no wonder for leda, and the terrible power of the puppet swan in the magic toyshop.