Arrington Lagoon

It has become increasingly difficult to tap into the delight that is the root of every poem draft I write. This is why I try to take a long walk every day. Delights are most often found when my body is in motion. Today’s draft was inspired by the delight of finally really seeing the color of a mallard duck’s foot. Many thanks to the human-friendly ducks of my hometown for this delight.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedIt's hard to notice the particular color of duck's feetthrough the beeping of the fitness timer,the half-sided conversations held through headphones,the crushing wait of I-must-do-this waiting on the desk at home.How could I possibly see this particular shade of perfect orange --except to pause near groups of two and three mallard ducksstrolling over August-green grass by the lagoon.To stand as close as I can, as still as I must,while they move their feet over grass and pavement and crushed limestone,subtly shift into their own spaceempty of nature-minded peopleintent on finding their lost joy in duck feet,in their particular shade of perfect orange against August-green grass.