Segregation

After swim practice Friday, I walked over to the Canal.
While a bit cooler, the day was sunny and beautiful.
People were walking, running, cycling and
skating alongside the water, enjoying every moment.
I saw turtles sunbathing under the Washington 
Street bridge, a heron ot two in flight over
the river, and ducks and geese taking a mid-day
siesta. Their naptime brought about a question:
Why were they segregated?
Under one bridge, there was a flock of mallards
dozing and drifting in the water.
Under another bridge there was a flock
of geese. Well, the birds were primarily geese;
a few confused-looking mallards paddled around
as if wondering how they got there and
where were their buddies?

And then there was this guy.

Where did he belong? 

His expression makes him look as 

though even he is a bit confused
because none of the other 
geese look like him.

Mallard on Red Water

From time to time, the Central Canal is dyed 

to help promote a holiday or event. 

On St. Patrick's Day it becomes that nasty,

flat green. It is pink during Cancer Awareness

events. Monday found it an odd, dark 

red for, what? National Butchers' Day? Bleh.

No matter, because the reflections from

the trees complimented the water

and it didn't keep this duck from happily

grooming and bathing itself.

Repose

Shaded by the trees surrounding the stream, 

this mallard took the opportunity to rest, 

dozing a bit in the afternoon quiet

while the water shimmered quietly past.

Ducks Think They're Pigeons ...

Earlier, this pair of mallards had been seen shopping at the neighborhood pharmacy 

just down the street, where they had tried to buy lip balm. 

The cashier asked them how they wanted to pay for the Chapstick,

the drake told her, "just put it on my bill."

Drake as Nike

I've always enjoyed those seemingly random moments 

when ducks and geese rise out of the water for a few seconds, 

flap their wings for the seeming joy of it, then settle 

back down to chortle and paddle around with their buddies.

But after watching this particular flock of mallards, 

the wing flapping didn't seem random after all;

each time a bird dipped it's head in the water three

or four times, it would rise up afterward

to flap its wings. Is it part of their grooming

routine, or a temperature control behavior?

Whatever the reason, I think it's pretty.

Mr. Pollock* Lives Here

Late this afternoon I walked over to the store and saw these 

pollocked pollarded trees. Their bold black limbs pressed 

against the sky, contrasting with the few wisps of 

remaining daylight and clouds.

On the soccer field a young boy, his father 

and big sister, were using the time they had left

to fly their kites, proud to be able to get them airborne

and to keep them dancing on the evening breeze.

The bare limbs and branches of the pollocked pollarded trees 

in the top picture remind me somewhat of the thick 

and thin lines in some of Jackson Pollock's paintings.


* The correct word is "pollard," dammit, which
 I learned earlier this summer. I just guess my 
mind wants it to be "pollock."  

The "artiste" below reminds me to never become 

so confident that I lose sight of my true abilities.