Five bucks a beak.
All proceeds to charity.
Last sale, 10.45am.

No current? No problem.
The brigade is here – yellow chests, red trucks,
as though their uniform
was designed for this very day.

At 11.01, the flock is dropped
blasted from the bank
by a firehose.

Head becomes tail, back becomes belly –
crossing the river at snail speed.

The luckiest ducks
are the kids:
their thighs warm against black rock,
their toes licking the water.
And one, the luckiest of all?
He’s right in the race, up to his waist
sheparding a live white duck.

Mandarin feet
paddle briefly in the air
before being plunged back on course …
only to turn again towards the surf.

Meanwhile, above our sweaty scalps
the sea and sky blow blue and free
slipping the grip
of our best-laid plans
to tame
channel
or frame.

A visual meditation in response to Claude Monet’s “Cliffs at Pourville”, attending today’s Great Duck Derby at Seven Mile Beach Gerroa, and inspired by the daily post: Crossing.

Thanks for dropping by.  I love hearing how these “land” with you. Would you like to “reply” let me know one sensations or emotions you feel after seeing this post?

Free visual meditations are available at www.yourguidedjournal.com