Today was a work day for students to make final adjustments to the monologues they’re performing tomorrow.

Which is why I’m going to use today’s space to spin a meaningless (and impromptu) yarn. To wit:

Duck wandered out onto the pond in the early blueness of the February morning and was shocked out of his cold morning stupor by the sight of two skinny yellow duck feet sticking up out of the ice.

“Oh my stars,” sighed duck to himself, “somebody certainly has gotten themselves into a pickle.”

Duck sighed again and looked around the perimeter of the pond for anyone who might care. On the near shore, a mess of tiny brainless finches popped up and down, in and out of the lower branches of some leafless shrubbery, twittering frantic, pointless twitters at each other all at the same time, never stopping to listen or consider.

“Idiots,” thought Duck.

“Shut up,” said Duck, in a barely audible whisper.

Duck disgustedly turned to look at the far shore. A fox’s red head and tail bounced in and out of a deep snowbank. Little puffs of steam rose from the fox’s mouth in quick, short bursts.

Duck felt exhausted.

“Busy, busy, busy,” said Duck.

Duck turned away from the frozen feet and his two beady black eyes rose slowly heavenward. Duck furrowed his little brow, pleadingly.

Overhead, an airplane left a frosty exhaust trail. Duck followed the trail backwards across the arc of sky to where the plane had first taken flight a quarter of an hour before.

“How does that thing fly?” wondered Duck.

“And, why?”

Duck slowly lowered his head, relaxed his twitching brow, and turned back to the feet. He took a breath and stepped one-and-a-half steps toward them. He raised his tiny webbed toes a millimeter from the ice and, as vigorously as he could, lowered them back down onto the ice.

“I’ll save you,” Duck whispered, “just stay alive.”

Duck bowed his head in determined suffering, once again lifted the sharp tip of his toe from the surface of the ice, and lowered it down with all the force his rubbery, muscle-less calf could muster.

“Just stay with me,” Duck muttered.

A drop of watery mucus rolled from the nostril hole of Duck’s beak.

“How is this possible?” Duck wondered.

That’s a beautiful, poetic, and deeply meaningful story for you to contemplate until tomorrow when I report on the monologue performances.

You’re welcome.



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