I have a pretty good idea who couriered the puffin to our door, and left its delightful greetings . . . but they won’t fess up . . . in spite of two email inquiries . . . so the mystery is still intact.

In the meantime, Pete, the patient Puffin, sits on the corner of the sewing machine in the studio, keeping me company.  He wishes I’d quit dabbing and scraping on the rocks and concentrate on his cousins instead.