Ducks in free flight pass before me. Three living creatures with wings , heads and beaks leaning into the wind. Flaps of almost quiet presence, a brief stirring catching my ears, then my eyes. I sigh contentedness and barely stop. We don’t stop. The passing is a page in time, turned quickly.  I wonder where they are heading. And I wonder at their silent interaction. In my mind I freeze them like a still image. Brown feathers. I look too for specks of white and black and blue. Orange the beak and the webbed feet. But the color most intense in my heart is flight and  encounter, shining through me.

I study their bodies and capture details. A sweet holding on: I know it, despite shuning it constantly with little respite in my life. Letting go surfaces like liquid wax, slowly disfiguring a candle, exposing the absence of an image lit brightly. When candles vanish and images become fleeting, when I allow the passing, then three ducks and I briefly brushed this life awake, grazed a strand of hair in the universe and saw the dust lift, then drift back to earth.