Ducks

by
December 1992, no. 147

Ducks

by
December 1992, no. 147

Have you ever looked at a duck? There is more to it, to use that peculiar cliché, than meets the eye. Watching ducks has been my labour for some time, but, of course, it will be so only for a limited period. Still, I expect I will always retain the interest now that I have come to know ducks better.

Each morning, quite early, I walk to the Botanical Gardens. Even at that time the traffic has started up. On the way I stop on the overpass and examine the commuters moving below me on the freeway. I look down on the tops of the oncoming vehicles and watch their operators as they drive, staring ahead, or inspecting themselves in the mirror, or adjusting their hair, or lighting up a cigarette. There is time, usually, to see these things before the people slide from sight beneath me in their little metal capsules. I feel pity for my fellow beings and I deeply thank the universe for rust.

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