In our neighborhood there runs a series of canals alongside the roads, more commonly called ditches.  At this time of year, they run fast with water, and also harken the return of mama and papa ducks who decide to call the ditches home for the duckling season.  They waddle along the sides of the streets, murmuring to one another, searching for the just right place to claim as their homestead for the year.

The other day we were driving along and ahead of us were a female and male ditch duck couple.  Another male was following along, trying to woo this rather lovely vision of womanhood away from her partner.  Ever so slowly they waddled alongside the road as we gave them a wide birth, plenty of space to continue their mating rituals.  Driving by, we said aloud, “Someday, one of those silly ditch ducks is going to get hit.”  But in the three years since we’ve lived here, they persevere, thrive, raise their ditch duck family, and return the next spring.  We always look forward to the return of our ditch duck friends and the sight of the ditch ducklings following their mamas across the street to the lake.

Imagine my sadness this morning as I rounded the corner on the way to work to see the ditch duck husband standing perfectly still next to his ditch duck wife, mourning her still body as it lay next to the side of the road.  I wonder how long he stood there waiting for her to stand up and wander the ditches with him before he finally waddled away.  I wonder what he’ll do with the rest of his spring.


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