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Conrad Gardner

The Ducks - By Conrad Gardner

I used to run along this quiet road a while back. It curved uphill for a few miles and came to a

beautiful crest which gave me a view of the Black Mountains. Seeing it always pushed my

heart in an emotional and physical way, the awe at this sight that few people would notice the

same way I had, and the breaking down of my cardiovascular muscle. But over time, I’ve

forgotten the shape of those mountains.


What I think about more and more is a pair of ducks I passed this one time. It was

early in a summer morning, let’s say six am, and I came up to the crest. Gentle sunshine

reflected against a puddle which had formed in a pothole from the previous night’s rain – this

was England, after all, and summer rain would be a regular occurrence then.


A pair of ducks sat in the pothole pool together, quacking away. At first, I thought the

quacks had been in my mind – maybe I could talk to one of my quack parents about it

afterwards.


But no, the ducks floated in the puddle and at the sound of my presence, one of them

emerged. He stood four inches, barrelled towards me like an angry little bullet. I imagined

him to be protecting his companion, a gesture I found sweet, and I tried not to laugh about the

situation – it would’ve messed with my running breaths. But he kept on after me until I was

out of his sight.


We had another interaction on my way back, where he once again ran after me. His

webbed feet slapped across the wet road as he padded ahead. From my angle, he looked to

have a furrowed unibrow and I humoured him, picked up my pace and fled the vicinity.


They were gone the next morning. I wonder if he managed to protect his friend, if

they ever got themselves out of the road.

Yorumlar


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