April 07, 2005
Ohhh to simply be a duck...I seem to be writing about water foul a lot lately, but the main purpose of this entry is merely to reflect upon a relaxing evening with a friend. Not a duck, although I personally have nothing against their feathery goodness and am quite sure that in another, morbid fantasy world, ducks would make great friends. Or something like that.
It's just that we were sitting in the grass, near a pond, as the sun melted behind the trees and we noticed a duck or two making their little rippling trails within the water before us. It was so serene and entirely relaxing. Well, it was both of these things until my laughter rang out upon the landscape, echoing in deep and undulating tones for the modicum of neighbors tucked away in their respective condos to curse at.
The laughter surmounted after the statement of,
"Wouldn't it be great to simply be a duck?"
It was the kind of left field, ridiculous comment that you'd expect to come out of my mouth, but somehow he claimed it first. I could not help but chuckle at the absurdity and the irony that fell within those simple, thoughtless words. But that's what is so great about two people who feel completely comfortable with each other. There is no need to impress, no need to strut about in feigned perfection and there is certainly no need to be utterly speculative about anything other than the trite simplicity of being a damned duck...
"To simply float about the water, fly away whenever you choose and land wherever you darned well please."
I like days like this. Silly as it may sound, obscure as it may seem, there comes a point in the day or week or month when all cognitive actions need not be of the philosophical or political or substantive in nature. When two people can just remain nestled in the grass, for undetermined moments on end, and expect nothing from each other besides the very presence that person brings.
There aren't any noisy bars, ridiculous presumptions, neurotic parades, excessive clutter or artificial lights. There aren't any maddening crowds, booming voices or predicted rituals. There is simply the cool of the grass beneath your backside, the chill of the wind as it exhales the evening air and the fall of a friendly conversation at your lips. No one person hoping for romance or insightful banter, no displays of radical affection or teasing eyes behind the mask - just being.
But, of course, there are some complications that come with every moment of repose and naturally one just happened to catch his mind,
"Wouldn't be much fun to be shot at, though."
I leaned back, with my hands wrapped about my knees and more obnoxious laughter engulfed my chest as I watched the duck fly directly over my head. And, I wondered, where was he going? Wherever he chooses, I suppose...
It may sound silly and it may sound childish - but these are the days that bring me back to the very innocence that I've strived to hold onto. These are the days where difficulties fade away into the very scenery before your eyes and the worries of the world cannot penetrate as deeply as they surely would if you were alone. These are the days that I cherish - a friend at my side, a drink at my feet, a sunset overhead and the ever sobering contemplation of how it would be to simply be a duck...