#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
It’s out into the chilly morning with the special one, early. Today, he wanted his shoes because we will be going through the grass. We hope not to meet a hornet today, but if we do, we are prepared with foot protection. We walk to the river and then around the trail, checking all of our favorite landing spots. The river is high. The wetlands are noisy with blackbirds. Then, to the brook––will we see the mallards? Yes! There is Mr. Mallard in the brook, sound asleep! Mrs. Mallard must be nearby in the brown camouflage of her nest. Charlie is kind and does not bark. The special one is kind and doesn’t throw the boulder in his hands into the brook for Charlie to dive for it. The mallard dozes on, undisturbed.
Mallards can sleep on both land and water
Ducks sleep for an average of 10.8 hours per day
Ducks can rest their heads on their chests by pulling their necks backward.
And on the trail, I look carefully into the green leaves on the sides of the trail because, yes––here is the first jill-in-the-pulpit of the season in bloom. There is so much to discover in these wonderful woods. The special one takes off his shoes after all and we climb the hill of wood chips in our bare feet, and we have a race, and we walk/run/walk to the railroad tracks where the river flows under the trestle bridge. I find the little stalks of milkweed that grow there near the gravel coming up. We race some more, and then the special one’s feet are tired and he is carried for a bit. Then he wants to do our “trick” on the trail where I get down and make a table top of my back and he climbs up and stands on my back! Well, there is so much to do, and all this before breakfast. We head home, walk/run/walk/carry and Mr. Mallard is still asleep on the brook and Frank takes over so I can shower and get to my critique group on time. All day there is a fine breeze, but also a bit of chill, even though it’s sunny. The breeze blows through the open doors. I have group, and sessions and then I stretch my legs by making dinner which feels pleasant: quesadillas. This pleases everyone. All day I think so fondly of our mallard. How safe he feels on our brook. His brook. His hope in these wetlands. Soon enough, Mack, Pack, Oack, Quack, Nack. . . and all of them.