Rain and Reeds

Mallards

The morning opened its eyes to a changed landscape. After the night of steady rainfall, the little marsh had become a fresher place. The pond shone opalescent, reflecting the sky above. Swallows darted about with renewed zest. A mallard mother and her young shook beads of dew from their feathers. The ducklings' eyes gleamed, as if laughing with the joy of simply being alive.

After northwest downpours, the earth was always heavier, but the air felt lighter. Breathing was a miraculous affair, for everything smelled and tasted sweeter. The dusty scent of petrichor wafted from nearby wheat fields. The reeds and wild roses perked up, standing tall and proud, as if in a bold oil painting. Innocent voices rang through the boggy undergrowth lining the pond. The ducklings were becoming anxious to see the day.

"Mother," cried one small duckling, "may we go out swimming today?"

An eager sibling added, "Yes, may we?"

"Of course," replied the amiable mother, who had raised her ducklings to be as courteous as she, and for this reason, never needed to deny her brood their wishes. She set off through the tall plant stalks, her plump body bobbing from side to side. Her offspring copied every step, every sway, every contented warble. Their quick feet slapped the wet dirt, and they skittered about enthusiastically. Life was never a bore for the brave mother, with her eight children flocking behind her everywhere she went.

"Why can't we play with the turtles, Mother?" peeped her most inquisitive duckling, who was always getting into one kind of scrape or another. "And why can't we eat the yew berries? Also, where's our father? The red-winged blackbirds have mothers and  fathers. Why don't we?"

The mother mallard hid her face in her feathers as she stopped to preen. "Oh, dear," she said, mostly to herself.

The curious duckling frowned. "What is it, Mother? Is something wrong? Are you sick? Am I  or any of the others sick? Are you sad? Is there another brood on the way? Will we have more playmates? Will I get to look over them? Can I name one after me and add a 'junior'? I've heard that the Canada geese who live in the pasturelands are like that, because there's so many living in close quarters, that they add 'junior' to every name, sometimes more than once. I'd like to be named Junior, or one of my new siblings; it's such a jolly name, like 'Sunshine', but for boy ducks."

"I do not have any fertilized eggs, dear. There are no siblings on the way. I must need more sleep. Now, you go on," encouraged the mother, peering out from her veil of feathers. "I must think about what to do with you."

"Why? What did I do wrong?"

The mother was patient, and spoke kindly. "You make me weary, dear. Now, do be quiet for one moment, and join your brothers and sisters in the water. You are the last one in. You will miss the fattest water bugs. And pray, do stay out of trouble."

Once her pesky duckling had departed, the mallard fell into a well-earned slumber.