Thoughts Along the River By Vicky Runnoe


The whistle of wings is the first hint of approaching mallards.  With a swoosh, the flock comes in to land.  Wings arc back, cupping the morning air as orange legs swing down touching webbed feet to the water’s smooth surface.  Gliding several yards, they come to a stop, bobbing gently in the wakes of one another.  Further along the river, we hear the telltale patter of webbed feet slapping on the water as mergansers race toward liftoff and flight.  Dabblers versus divers, each finding different ways to claim both air and water as their own.

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