There is a funny thing ducks do when they aren’t in alignment. They waddle about, bash into each other jostling for position, and make quacking sounds in the style of Gangnam. It goes a bit like this: quack-quack qua-qua-quack. It can get a tad noisy up there in the head, but they do end up saying “Heeeeeey sexy lady” a lot and that I like.
Right now the ducks are on the move.
They are traveling Gangnam style all over my brain. They are traveling to places I’ve been, places I am heading to, and places I don’t even know exist yet, picking up innocent ducklings, curious ducklers, rebellious teenaducks, duckineers, mama ducks, duckerinas, ninja ducks, haute duckouriers, musiducks, fitnoducks, hypnoducks, enviroducks, psi-fi ducks of all different shapes and sizes along the way, each of them carrying a little golden egg.
Their journey will take 13 weeks.
In 13 weeks, they will assemble quietly in the night and settle at the foot of my bed. The line up will stretch out of my bedroom, into the living room, past my dog, into the foyer, down the elevator shaft (risking their lives for me), out the building, across the street (you’ll see why they are crossing in a moment), over the train tracks, across Lakeshore Road, into Lake Ontario, eastward into Québec, into the mighty St-Lawrence and past the three great tributaries: The Ottawa, The St-Maurice, and The Saguenay, then around the Gaspé and into the open seas where they will thread a message visible from space around Earth’s 5 oceans:
You too are a Steward.
Do something that matters to cherish and protect our home, Earth, and all her inhabitants.
Even if it’s one small act.
On that day, the biggest and likely most obnoxious duck will be sitting on my chest as I re-enter the waking world, looking down at me intently, just itching to break the silence. This fearless leader will quack the alarm, the ducks will vanish, and leave me to harvest the trail of golden eggs they delivered.
I, however, am not waiting for the ducks to be all in a row to break the silence. (I just did a spoiler up there. Whoops.)
During the next 13 weeks, while I work on the strategy for WomanNotWaiting.com Part Deux, Lola, my fuzzy standard poodle emBARKs on a reconnaissance mission to retrieve a few unsuspecting fowl and get some intel on who they are collecting (of course no animals will be hurt during this quest). Her findings, in turn, I will share with you.
So the content for the weekly Sunday duckisodes (next one: Time To Pluck The Duck) will be more of a let’s get to know each other exercise. I’ll tell you a bit about who I am. I mean. Who the ducks are. And you can share a bit about your little waddlers.
How restless are YOUR ducks right now? Have you found any little golden eggs that you care to share?
It all starts with the ruffle of one single feather.