Chapter Fifteen
Ordinarily most people don’t think much of ducks. They waddle, they swim, they quack, they fly, but they have always seemed rather unremarkable. But this duck was special. It isn't clear whether he flew there by accident or on purpose, or if he had missed the fall migration and been hiding out in someone’s shed for the winter, but on this particular morning, he lifted his beak, stretched his wings and flew around looking for an open patch of water. When he found it, it looked strange to the duck, so he rested on a ledge above the bird bath. The bird bath was located in the courtyard of the hospital, several floors below Timmy’s window. It looked like water, but it seemed strange to our mallard, who settled on the ledge outside Timmy’s room and waddled back and forth quacking.
Small birds came and went from the bird bath (which was heated to keep the ice away, though our duck did not know that). He wanted a pond or a lake, or even a slow moving stream, but all those in his memory were frozen solid and covered with snow.
He quacked his disturbed thoughts, his longing for water, his irritation that the smaller birds were flitting in and out of the only water he had found.
His quacking invaded Timmy’s icy slumber. His quacks were the song of spring, or the promise of spring, and so Timmy remembered. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, in the depths of his somnolence, he felt a spark of recognition, which lit a glimmer of hope, and Timmy began to fight off the cold.
He heard the duck crying out for spring, he listened to the song of clear waters and reeds along the edges of the lakes. He heard the song of warm breezes and clear sunny days, of fish swimming beneath the surface. He heard the song.
When Timmy’s eyes opened, the first thing he saw was the mallard on the ledge, still frantically quacking away and waddling back and forth.
“It’s okay.” Timmy whispered.
Now whether the bird heard Timmy or understood what Timmy meant or not, in any case, he then turned and flew down to the bird bath and investigated the warm waters. And when Timmy’s parents returned to the room, he had a smile on his face and he looked as if he had fallen into a natural sleep.
Small birds came and went from the bird bath (which was heated to keep the ice away, though our duck did not know that). He wanted a pond or a lake, or even a slow moving stream, but all those in his memory were frozen solid and covered with snow.
He quacked his disturbed thoughts, his longing for water, his irritation that the smaller birds were flitting in and out of the only water he had found.
His quacking invaded Timmy’s icy slumber. His quacks were the song of spring, or the promise of spring, and so Timmy remembered. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, in the depths of his somnolence, he felt a spark of recognition, which lit a glimmer of hope, and Timmy began to fight off the cold.
He heard the duck crying out for spring, he listened to the song of clear waters and reeds along the edges of the lakes. He heard the song of warm breezes and clear sunny days, of fish swimming beneath the surface. He heard the song.
When Timmy’s eyes opened, the first thing he saw was the mallard on the ledge, still frantically quacking away and waddling back and forth.
“It’s okay.” Timmy whispered.
Now whether the bird heard Timmy or understood what Timmy meant or not, in any case, he then turned and flew down to the bird bath and investigated the warm waters. And when Timmy’s parents returned to the room, he had a smile on his face and he looked as if he had fallen into a natural sleep.
posted by Kim in Training | 9:43 AM
1 Comments:
great stuff - I love the previous chapter ending "It was the duck that saved him" fortunately you had next chapter posted already so I didn't have to wait long to find out what that entailed - no pun intended. Keep going!
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