Daring Duck

I'm staring outside my window at the marsh. The wind beats down on the flaccid waters, creating waves from stillness. A lone duck battles the unforgivingly-natural force. To me it's just wind, but to the duck it's a typhoon. I watch as the duck tries to remain calm, bobbing left and right like marker buoys do when caught in the tide. The creature presses on. Abandoning its first plan the duck kicks its little webbed feet as fast as they go, knowing that a lift-off is out of the question. What is going through this duck's brain? Certainly death is not worth any amount of bread crumbs. Perhaps our feathery-friend is a thrill-seeker. No female ducks (or male ones for that case) can do what the rush of a near-death experience does for said duck.

It moves from left to right, across the marsh, and eventually out of site.

This entry took an unforeseen turn. My intention has been overridden. Thrill-seeking ducks only seem powerless.