Ducklings

         As a child, for a while, my play companions were these creatures with adorable scent,  softest fluff and funniest gait. Back from school, I would scatter my tiny limbs imbued with sun-induced laziness on the entrance hall’s carpet and cuddle them. Stare at beneath my borrowed from mum’s closet oversized milky t-shirt, thoroughly permeated with her dizzying lilac perfume. On my bare tummy. They were asleep in the blink of an eye. Most peculiar napping positions; twisted necks, spread out legs, askew heads. (No, no nasty accident, as I recall.) Then, I would go in the front yard and prepare them a mixture of chopped greens, water and powdered grains. Catch flies for. Dig the damp, fertile earth in the garden by the river to reveal rosy & fatty earthworms, pick them up on short sticks and serve them as dessert. Cunning figures!, they would pilfer from each other and launch in their hilariously swung fugue, wriggling thread hanging from greedy beaks. Their sounds, must admit, to me are delightful coming only from female ducks (poor males sound weakly high-pitched & lame), but the minuscule creatures’ chirping was curious too. So lovely prompt on arrival if called…

         As an adult, I sort of self-indulge in first sight reserved attitude, uneasy approachability and awkwardly bold spontaneity. But when it comes to ducklings, oh my, I could not resist a game of seduction! To me, are simply irresistible. Might be due to the nostalgic reminiscence of reckless times they unleash in my network, or because of the few remnants of introverted and solitary child I still haul around. I don’t know. What I do know is that sometimes, when I sniff babies’ necks (orare occurrence – people fret over the habits that don’t resemble their casual norm), that is, greatest spot on the immaculate & perfectly smooth map of human destiny, I instantly think of ducklings. Same freshness, same warm delicacy, same feeling of too fleeting sweetness…

The photo’s source

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