Gold feather and bird design sheet

The gulls have gone quiet since the storm, and Mr Pryce says the flock that came off the cliff this morning was the biggest he has seen since he was a boy. I counted forty before I gave up. They rose from the long grass by the chapel wall all at once, as if someone had shaken out a sheet, then came down on the shingle in a heap to pick at the wrack.

I have been carrying the tin of gold leaf you sent for Mother's birthday. I meant to use it on the church plaque, but the vicar says the parish cannot afford gilt, so I have been gilding feathers instead. Every storm leaves a few on the rocks, and I collect them and paint them with the squirrel-hair brush you gave me. Mr Pryce thinks I am mad. He held one up to the window yesterday and said it looked like a quill that had been dipped in the sun.

Here is the strange part. Last night, when the wind finally dropped, I took the best of them out to the end of the jetty and let go. Nine lifted off the water and went north, shining, and the birds roosting on the chapel wall rose up after them. By the time they were over the headland I could not tell which were feathers and which were birds.

Come out at Easter if you can. The boat still runs on Tuesdays. Bring the squirrel brush back with you, and tell me whether you have ever seen such a sight from the mainland.

Your sister, Nell