Riverbank Wanderer and Little Waterfowl

A hand, gingerly submerged and padded by speckled silt, laid still at the river’s edge. It all but crossed the boundary between water and air, yet a few fingertips managed to sprout at the surface. The hand continued, neither wriggling nor hoping to be found by an innocent bystander’s fearful embrace. It remained.

And then a twitch.

Sigh. Twitch. Deep breath.

With no noisy wind or nosy visitors with their noisy children and boisterous dogs to run around the riverbank, she lay there like a river dweller. She accepted the slight poking and pinching of the gravelly-pebbly bed in return for the peace that the river provided. But that peace could only last for so long. The sun was blinding at a 12:30 angle and she felt it as a seemingly singular ray aim at her iris. The rays continued on, glistening her marbled cerulean eyes, causing them to release a few tears.

Blink, drip, blink, drop.

Ugh.

12:30 already.

Her thoughts were blank and passive. Each spark of mental energy directed itself towards the intake of sensory information:

No visible gusts of wind are present – water still bobbling despite that. Veiny streams trickling. Cold, probably low 60’s. Loamy smell after yesterday’s rain. Grainy bits of dirt. Beets taste just the same.

… Blink, Blink

Lashes flutter…

Stagnancy grabbed her by the shoulders and refused to let go. Stillness had been her state for the past hour and a half and she couldn't understand why. She gave up trying to understand. What’s the point after all? Why ruin this. Let me just stretch the moment, she thought. Life in general was like that these days– stagnant and still. Her environment tried its best to spark some kind of motivation for her to get up and get going – somewhere, anywhere, anything – without much success. All she could muster up was the drive to turn over and face the river. So she did. Not wanting to let go of the river, the owner of the hand rolled to her side while maintaining the palm submerged. She dipped the other hand to make swirls. Each wrist twist temporarily disrupted the river’s flow. She stared at the bobbling gustless waves for a good while as the water brushed her hand. If I just stay here, she thought, trailing off into thoughtlessness.

Flap flap. Quack, splash.

Quack? What is that?

A yellow ball bobbled and twirled. Orange splotches neared the surface of the water, breaking the cohesion of the river. It peeped and splashed, hoping for someone to answer but to no avail. The duckling seemed to be an unaccompanied minor and had no idea where it was, maybe even what it was. She was the only witness to the duckling in distress. Finally there was action and a reaction; there was a reason to get up and go. And so, without a second thought, she let go of the river. And truly embraced it.

Plop, splash, plop.

Peep.

Both man and little beast met each other along the edge of the river. She was thigh deep in the water. Slimy rocks. Whoah, she whispered. The autumn winds began to pick up, nearly pushing her back. She stumbled. Finally, she cupped her hands to make a little net for the duckling to fall into. The feathery ball made its way helplessly through the current. She extended her arms further, hoping the duck would accept the invitation to safety. It kicked around for a while but hastily made peace with fate and settled in her palms.

Peep.

Stare.

Peep. Preen. NIP.

Ow.

Confusion struck her as she held the duckling. What do I do, she asked herself as the duckling made several attempts to peck at her fingers. Still wading, she sloshed through the water towards the river bank. Once she stepped onto dry ground, she stood, glancing around for any sign of duck life. Nothing. She filled her lungs and let out a sigh. The duckling adjusted its legs and made himself comfortable, accepting his new reality. Meanwhile she tried to accept hers. Um, hm, well, ok then, she muttered.

She lifted her galaxy blue jean jacket from the gravelly-pebbly ground and brushed off bits of wet grain. The riverbank was empty. The baby duck fussed. She rolled up the jacket with one hand and wrapped the duckling into the folds.

She went forward. He peeped.

And then there were two. Two lost souls, unsure of what to do, unsure of where to go, and just plain unsure.