Here in central Wisconsin we have been having what my dad used to call duck weather; that is to say gray, soggy skies with little hope of getting over 42°F exasperated by stubborn northwest winds. Perfect duck weather. This made me think – if I were a duck – I wouldn’t mind this winter pre-course. After all, Duck likes rain, or at least he doesn’t mind because everything rolls off those beautifully oiled, weather proofed feathers.
Of course there are other advantages. If I were a duck, I would be a very good swimmer, which I currently am not. I’m what you would call a sinker, a stone, an anchor of the highest quality. I am the first one to put on a life jacket in a boat. Though I can stay afloat for a few minutes, my true calling is non-buoyancy. So you can see where being a duck would be a worthwhile ambition if I were to spend much time on the water.
Then there is flying. Who wouldn’t want to fly? I’m not one much for heights but I wouldn’t be concerned about that if I could fly. Heights aren’t really the problem when all is said and done – it’s the abrupt landing that is the bothersome piece of it. Eliminate that and no one cares how high they are, am I right?
But the real beauty of Duck are those feathers, which he preens and primps like a fourteen year old girl getting ready to take a selfie, though he has a little more riding on the results given the sinking and abrupt landings and whatnot. Those feathers are priceless. Not only for the aforementioned reasons but because the feathers let everything roll off Duck. No matter what storm has happened upon him, it affects him not. Rain, sleet, snow, perceived insults, ill-born mood swings, personal attacks and politics…
If I were a duck, I could learn a lot about letting go, about letting things just roll off me.
Maybe it is duck weather - and time to spend a bit more time on my own feathers.