The Ducks are Everywhere
The ducks are everywhere. They cluster around on the grass by the dirt path that isn’t a pavement, sitting or waddling around, occasionally quacking. They edge away when I approach. I want to tell them that I’m harmless and wish they would come up and say hello but they’re too wary for that. But they don’t go far; some visitors bring breadcrumbs.
Most of the ducks are brown but some have brown bodies with teal heads. It’s actually more like aqua but I think they must be teal ducks so I call the head colour teal. Ok, light teal. There’s a thin white line on their necks dividing the teal from the brown body. It looks like a guideline for a man with a hatchet, it says this duck is oven-ready. I call it the ‘cut here’ line, because sometimes someone gives you a flyer with a blurb up the top and a form to fill in down the bottom of the page. Between them is usually a dotted line, and under the dotted line it sometimes says: ‘cut here’.
The ducks cross the road to get to bread crumbs. Sometimes they hesitate at the centre line. I wonder if they’re scared or just sensible. How does a duck represent engine noise in its mind? Mother ducks hurry across with seven or eight little brown ducklings hurrying after. I’ve seen her corralling them by the side of the road, snapping at them to stay put. Is she waiting for a chance to cross?
People complain about the ducks but they must all stop when the ducks scurry across. I haven’t seen any dead ducklings by the roadside. They have their own road sign: a yellow diamond with a big black duck in the centre. Perhaps people stop because they are used to obeying road signs.