Duck Love

On a usual lazy, quiet Sunday morning, I wandered upstairs to chat with Roommate. Small Talk, Small Talk, and oh, by the way, the ducks were eaten last night.

Como say what? My heart sunk as I pictured limp feathered bodies in our once-inviting backyard. I suddenly found an afternoon in the hammock unappealing.

These were not my pets, but I loved them nonetheless. They were such happy little creatures. I would lounge back there, watching them absent mindedly, soothed by their murmuring. When their pool was refilled, I smiled to watch them ecstatically dive and torpedo themselves in circles. They would eventually come to sit underneath me in the hammock as I read, clicking away their bills, looking for bugs in the tall grass. “Hey duckducks, heeyy, duckduckducks…”

When Roommate would come out back, they would squawk and follow at her heels. Momma and her flock.

It’s surprising to me how calming and pacifying their presence was. They weren’t great conversationalists, but perhaps that’s why I liked them best. They would just talk amongst themselves without demanding anything from me. I could simply sit and watch them, content in their duckness: preen and eat, eat and bath, bath and swim, swim and nap. Their actions were instructive to them, but meditative for me.

“Hey duckducks… heeyy, duckduckducks…”

Open Mic Night

(muffled) clips of riffs and licks
slip by corners and
drift through legs-
staged against a crowd of 3.
Speakers hold to beer
as if a mic-
two minutes and forever is your spot tonight.
(Locals Broadway with fewer ovations)
Beatnik Theory drops
like cigarettes
coughing out clouded thoughts,
subdued by even cloudier hops.
An audience of ethos
which claps
lights another cigarette
and sits back
waiting- more than watching...
Soft Bitters sweeten the mood...

Sing little Bluebird,
your wings need resting.
Perch up-top your headed-mic and
speak your spot:
two minutes tonight.

Follow Your Nose

“Aannaa??” I hear around the corner.

“Yes?”

“I need help with homework…” Roommate uncertainly replies. Even her statement sounds unsure of itself.

I meander over and plop down to see what’s up. Or, down. Or-

“Hm, ok…” I start to look over what we’ve got.

My nose twitches and I begin to think What’s that smell? I know that smell; kinda smells good. Familiar… What did she eat? Oo- I know that smell! Sniff. Sniff. Snnniiiifff.

Roommate suddenly exclaims, breaking me from my internal dialogue and investigation, “It’s fish sticks! I’m sorry, I ate fish sticks!”

Well, there you have it. We had an entire conversation through my sniffing and mental comments.

Oh, And One Other Note-

This song has been stuck in my head all weekend. Perhaps this blithe tune contributed to my equally blithe mood? Regardless, here it is so that you, too, may have it set on repeat inside your head. Bueno!

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

Brown paper packages tied up with strings

These are a few of my favorite things

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple streudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings

These are a few of my favorite things

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

Silver white winters that melt into springs

These are a few of my favorite things

When the dog bites

When the bee stings

When I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my favorite things

And then I don't feel so bad

A Perfectly Wonderful Day

I have spent the day in a delicious haze; a stupor even. I am now just noticing the time- as I step back to wonder where and how my day has been spent. My consciousness has been anchored elsewhere and I’ve floated and drifted on my whims of the moment: coffee, paper, food, repeat. Drive, mini nap, coffee, repeat. I made the Good Rounds and saw the parents, put in some TV time, lingered here and there in lazy conversation. Good friends and family met me in the morning, with equal passivity towards activity.

It was a day of backyards and their subdued noises. There were the chickens to be visited (hastily fed and eggs warily gathered), sparse conversation with the sprinkler’s hypnotic chka-chka-chka-cchhsshh, and finally my own backyard with the comfortable chatter and murmur of The Ducks.

I swung in the hammock for what I now know to be hours- the pitch and roll of the hammock knocking all my thoughts about. The dilemma of choosing between a nap and my book occupied the more conscious parts of my mind, and oftentimes I didn’t need to choose- I dozed and woke; ebbed and flowed. I rocked and listened to far-off children in the street, the occasional drone of an airplane, the busy rustle of the tree branches. The sun slowly made its way across my legs: temperate for July. Daydreams came and went. My friend took pity on my inertia and brought out dinner.

I only noticed the change in time when the flies started to bite. I feel that for the first time in a long, long time, I successfully checked out. Where I checked in to, though, that’s anyone’s guess.

If ever there was a way to celebrate independence, this, this is it.