Two ducks.
I’m housesitting at Mum’s. Once mum and dad’s. It’s nice and peaceful and I can get on with my marking, writing and faffing on the net. Two mallard ducks regularly visit. They’re so used to me doing my washing and feeding the cat. They swim around in the pool without a care. Even the cat ignores them.
I think I have a problem. I don’t believe in anything. I don’t believe in religion or ghosts or fairies – or anything that can be proven with a smidge of evidence. I believe UFOs exist because of the mass of suspicious data right here on the internet. And therefore I believe in aliens. But I don’t see that as a real concern. Animal-butchering aliens who wish to remain anonymous doesn’t help my plight here on Earth. I’d like to believe in life after death – one that explains our increasing population, poverty and war. Not the middle class, hoity-toity “I used to be King Richard” bullshit.
So why visit my Father’s grave?
I’m not sure why I did that yesterday. But I did.
I was coming home from bootcamp and I had some things to “show” Dad. New pressure (spots) pants; stories about my new musical life; bootcamp; my film work; working with mentally disadvantaged people; my uni teaching. I even showed Dad my new training shoes.
Then I cried. I miss Dad very much and it felt like I was telling him all these things – just a bit too late.
I heard a noise and turned just in time to see two ducks swoop in – landing not 2 metres away from me. I nearly jumped out of my skin – thinking it was Dad winging in in with a new form.
But it was just two Mallard ducks.
