I have spent the better part of today staring at the morass that is my backyard pool. As the snow and ice continue to melt off in the relative heat (?) of a late March sun, the putrid brown water that has replaced them is a certain sign that spring is on the way. And with that ever-increasing pond scum comes the surest symbol of the changing season....the annual arrival of the mallards.
Over the last number of years, The Husband has taken to awakening me in the early morning hours whenever he catches the first glimpses of our duck friends, and today was no exception. The returning couple arrived with a male friend in tow. A truly unusual occurrence for mallards who mate for life and don't like to introduce sparring partners into their relationships. If they form a threesome, it is most often two girls and a guy so that he can feel like some pumped-up lead in a porno flick. So when we saw the extra green head this morning, I couldn't help but to cheer wildly and with increased vigour for my feminist fowl friend.
The odd thing is, that as of this writing some 5 hours since we first spotted them in the pool, they are still here. And while the jealous boyfriend fought off his tenacious rival some time ago, the happy couple seems to have buried roots in my backyard. They are happily paddling, occasionally snoozing, quacking in good spirits, and seemingly searching for an adequate location to nest. It is as if they are test-driving the space. A condo for canards?
I have spent the better part of my day photographing them, staring at them with awe and wonder, and pondering how I might increase their happiness and comfort in an effort to get them to hang around just a little bit longer. I have found the entire experience very zen and extraordinarily calming. There is something so easy and relaxing about enjoying the minute and short glimpses of true natural beauty that living in the suburbs affords us. I have loved every second of this incredible Good Friday.