good for the ducks, maybe

The morning after I got the duck out of the basement, I saw a male duck walking down Bert's driveway, by himself. Bert had told me of the duck couple being back in the neighborhood several days before that. I couldn't help but think the female I'd released had been the one in that couple, and that she'd not made it back to him.

The next day I started yardwork, and that meant going out to the bush she'd stumbled off under when I'd last seen her, wondering whether she was injured. There was no dead duck under the bush. No dead duck in the environs, either. So that part was good.

Then this evening I saw two ducks fly over the house next door and pull up to swoop in for a landing out front, looking quite strong & hardy. I walked over. There they were, a male & a female, and the female looked like my duck. They hung out for a few. Bert & Zach & I talked ducks. The kids in Bonnie's doorway quacked at them.

She might not be my duck, that duck. But she might. I'm gonna think so. It should be easier to do that than it was to stop thinking about that solitary duck in Bert's driveway.


Me, I'm all awash in a most nastily acute awareness that I don't know shit about how to connect with people after all. Matter of fact, I can't even see how it was I ever thought I did. And it's profoundly depressing, I don't (seem to) mind telling you.


So I'm gonna go ahead and go through with what I've got laid out for myself here this next little bit, trying at least to fake maintaining an open mind that I may look up & find my heart in it, somewhere along the line. It oughta be something to focus on, for a handful of days. It's a little too close to the other thing, though. The not connecting. Everything is too close to that.

good for the ducks, maybe

The morning after I got the duck out of the basement, I saw a male duck walking down Bert's driveway, by himself. Bert had told me of the duck couple being back in the neighborhood several days before that. I couldn't help but think the female I'd released had been the one in that couple, and that she'd not made it back to him.

The next day I started yardwork, and that meant going out to the bush she'd stumbled off under when I'd last seen her, wondering whether she was injured. There was no dead duck under the bush. No dead duck in the environs, either. So that part was good.

Then this evening I saw two ducks fly over the house next door and pull up to swoop in for a landing out front, looking quite strong & hardy. I walked over. There they were, a male & a female, and the female looked like my duck. They hung out for a few. Bert & Zach & I talked ducks. The kids in Bonnie's doorway quacked at them.

She might not be my duck, that duck. But she might. I'm gonna think so. It should be easier to do that than it was to stop thinking about that solitary duck in Bert's driveway.


Me, I'm all awash in a most nastily acute awareness that I don't know shit about how to connect with people after all. Matter of fact, I can't even see how it was I ever thought I did. And it's profoundly depressing, I don't (seem to) mind telling you.


So I'm gonna go ahead and go through with what I've got laid out for myself here this next little bit, trying at least to fake maintaining an open mind that I may look up & find my heart in it, somewhere along the line. It oughta be something to focus on, for a handful of days. It's a little too close to the other thing, though. The not connecting. Everything is too close to that.