Mallard Ducks

I am watching the most beautiful flock of birds. They are like mallard ducks, only much larger, more elegant and graceful in flight. They are ‘swarming’ against a red sunset sky – they swoop rise and dive in breathtaking formations.

I become aware that I have a weapon with me: a spray can that will kill with waves of sound. I wonder why I am here to shoot these beautiful creatures but know that I am. They swoop towards me; iridescent green bellies flashing and brown wings raising a wind.

It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Just when their formation has reached a crescendo I find myself involuntarily raising my arm. I spray my puny weapon into the flock and a high pitched wailing noise is released. Four big ducks thud to the floor and I run over to them, horrified at my actions. They lie entwined on the soft peaty ground.

I am devastated by their fall from the sky and start screaming and crying for them to be well again. Three of the ducks revive quickly and rejoin the flock. But the fourth still lies there so I pick it up and cradle it in my arms. It is soft, warm: a long black velvety neck hangs over my arm, a beak gently but reproachfully bites me.