Sunday, 21 January 2007


I enjoy watching the ducks fly.

I live in an area known as the Fraser River Estuary. It is a major migratory bird sanctuary.

If you are like me, and you appreciate birds - although I am no expert - you will enjoy the general area of the Fraser River Estuary. There are plenty of birds to see.

Throughout the area, there is an ever present population of Mallard ducks, but due to their reliable presence, they tend to be the forgotten species; ignored in favour of the more exotic, more splendid and seldomly seen, birds.

But I like the Mallard, and as I have already mentioned, I enjoy watching them fly.

They are not really noted for their grace in the skies. In fact, I read a book to my children just yesterday, which stated only that "ducks waddle", and of course, if you have ever observed a duck walking proudly upon its webbed feet, they do indeed waddle, but they also swim, and they also fly, when the need arises.

I watched a Mallard fly today. It certainly wasn't even as graceful in the air as a seagull.

The duck flapped its wings furiously. A stiff icy breeze ensured it did not linger long with its wings outstretched, nor did it venture far from the ground.

The duck appeared to apply notable effort toward its avionic endeavour, and yet, lacking the grace and comparative skill of other birds, it still chose to fly.

1 comment:

Heather said...

I like how you used the word 'chose'. Yep, we aren't all exotic birds, graceful and strong, but we do have choices. We have our place.

I also loved your 'bundled' poem and the Polar Bear one. Thank you for opening up and sharing so much with us. You have chosen to come out of the blizzard yourself. Put that neon jacket on babe.