One fond memory I have growing up was the pleasure of grabbing stale goods in a knotted up bread bag and running down to the local park.
This park was prettily bordered by a small river, and was home to a flock of ducks--I believe Mallards. As soon as I got close enough, I would gingerly step in heel-toe fashion, so as not to scare my timid friends. Then, I'd toss a few morsels down and take a few steps closer. But it was never close enough. I longed to be able to see their pretty sheen and squat next to them, and perhaps have them eat out of my hand.
Who would have thought I could enjoy 48 of these beautiful creatures who have no such reservations?
Such a blessing. They gladly come right up to our silver trash can for goodies, and follow me around the yard. I just love looking at their amazing variety of colors. Even the males, with their bubbly red head features seem noble. Just look at the contrast between this male's softly glowing sheen and tough and rugged mask.
