The day the ducks went in the fountain

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The time has come for us to meet and sit and chat about nothing at all. In the hopes that something will arise out of the petty teeming; the who did this; the what color did that get painted — maybe we can reach a place of mutual curiosity.

In the tree house of curiosity perhaps I will mention a lake I’d seen when I was a kid, and about how I was too shy to ask for help getting in the water, and slipping on the weeds I cut my knee on barnacle. Perhaps the image will conjure up a feeling of support or nurturing.

If it doesn’t, and you think I’m being poor-me about the whole thing, share with me a time you rose from the dead like Lazarus — from another lake — and how diving for silver you fell in the water. How you became the frog queen and your parents to this day tell the story of how you jumped in the lake and came out a with a quarter.

If it does conjure up the feeling of support and love let’s take a pause and watch the kids go by the fountain with ducks. We’ll both look in the same direction and you’ll see the two little girls making faces — playing the who’s the bigger monster game. I’ll look that way too, but see the ducks thinking: do they know the fountain’s not a lake? Are they aware they are the only ducks in the water? Do they see this as a plus, like finding a spot on the beach that’s secluded? Does it matter if they are with friends, do they need each other? Can they be happy alone?

And I’ll think, like the ducks think, as you watch the kids play and we’ll share the same pause in time. Maybe we can take a sip of our coffee’s and finish sitting and chatting about nothing at all.

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