Shoot

I will try not to be sad on this day of long pauses and I will not lie awake in the morning when the duck-hunters shoot; nothing is working.

Fair Warning

Go out in your canoe. Paddle around me. I am gonna flap and squawk and hiss, and don't tell me I'm bluffing. Maybe I am and maybe I'm not, but you don't get to know until I am just a mean and feathery thud and you are just a flail and a splash in the reeds.

Preen, Preen, Preen

The duck just gets uglier.

April, Which If We Didn't Know Any Better, We Might Think Was the Loneliest Month

I am thinking about things that used to be here.

To a Waterfowl

 All over the island, they were close enough to reach out and give a pat on the head. They were dumb enough.

Bad Advice

Today I had my ducks in a row, and I was going to approach them, and ask them what to do next, because Lord knows I could use the advice. The ground was rife with skunk-cabbage blooms, which is just to say that it was a time and place of humble creatures, the duck (I believe) being among them. I was on duck-terrain, in duck-alignment (or so I thought), when they all seemed to disappear north in a sudden gust. And there I was, surrounded by skunk-cabbage, up a creek.