Every year a pair of Mallards
Returns to the woods where I live.
Come late winter they arrive,
Surely my first sigh of spring.
She feasts on seeds fallen from
The feeder. He- so handsome
Stands guard – fasting. She,
In muted elegance
dashes from her gorging
To sip from the swimming pool.
Back and forth and
Back and forth.
Who knew a duck could waddle
At such speed?
I call them Sam and Penny.
Naming seems somehow wrong.
I wonder if they ever
Deign to notice me at all.
Perhaps I am just dark shadow.
Or someone they call “Her”…
So many springs
We’ve spent together.
Wonder, too, about their
Skills as parents.
They never seem to
Bring much kin.
Maybe this is a place
As sacred to them as to me.
A place of quiet respect.
– jml (2010)
