The Writer's Pen
The Lonely Duck Quacks
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Nothing is so perfect as an evening in June. I sit on my deck on the south shore of Silver Lake with a good book and a cold beverage. The lake is calm. The birds sing. A hummingbird whizzes by on his way to the feeder. There are no boats or jet skis racing by. None of the neighbors are outside talking. No kids are swimming. No one is playing fetch with their dog. A lone duck quacks from the shoreline as he slips into the water. It is rare to see a duck here. Usually there are geese or pelicans.
The sun is a bright fuchsia red ball as it sinks slowly toward the horizon. Its reflection glistens in the water. The sky begins to turn multiple shades of pink and lavender. The duck paddles past the end of the dock. He quacks.
A boat approaches from the west. It idles by leisurely as the four occupants enjoy the evening. The duck sits still as the slow moving boat passes by. The small wake it makes caresses the shoreline. A fish jumps out of the water creating concentric circles that blend in with the wake. Soon it is all still again. The duck quacks.
The sky is colored as no paintbrush could duplicate. Close to the horizon it is a pastel grayed blue. Next is purple blending into pink, then peach, cream and finally pale blue. The shimmering lake reflects these colors. The duck quacks.
I close my book. It is now too dark to read. The sun has slipped below the horizon. The sky, still colored, begins to fade. The lake becomes perfectly still. The birds hush their singing. When the first mosquito flies by, I rise to go inside. My tranquil evening has ended. The lonely duck quacks.
Judy Taber, of Lake Park, is a member of the Hartley Writing Group.
