we decoy ducks–turn
them into sitting targets
for the play of guns,
cartoon them with characters
that ignore their balanced grace
I did a lot of drawings and paintings of ducks and found them to be a challenge. Often they ended up looking more like decoys than something alive. I was interested to discover that the expression “sitting duck” came from how easy ducks are for hunters to shoot and kill–less sport than slaughter.
I also did not know that they spend 2 weeks in late summer or early fall molting, replacing all of their feathers. During that time they can’t fly.
Mallards are good parents, and prefer shallow freshwater wetlands to raise their families. They are one of the most recognizable and abundant duck species in the world, and ancestor to most strains of domesticated ducks.
For Colleen’s #tanka Tuesday, poet’s choice. I’ve written a tanka.
you woke me not with
singing, but with squawks—crowlike,
insistent and loud—
a flash of blue amid oak leaves,
glittering with morning sun
I read online that bands of blue jays making a racket are often harassing a predator–must have been a hawk about the other morning.
I will continue to do draw-a-bird day here, but I’ve been posting at kblog while Nina is taking an extended break. Once she returns, I’ll be back at MeMadTwo regularly again. In the meantime, visit me at my other site!
I draw the Wheel of Fortune. My seasons are indeed turning. I open maps, searching for a solid place to land. Dazzled by paths that keep shifting, I am transported with a velocity that blurs the threads that have held me in the landscape my feet have raveled in the circles of my years. The unknown spills across my limitations, beyond the boundaries traced by time.
Randomness and change
growing wings in transcendence–
A haibun for Colleen’s #Poetry Challenge #92, using synonyms for bewitch and treasure.
Kerfe sent me some great shots of this bridge (she knows how much I love bridges). I picked this one to do first. Very difficult perspective–I will have to try this one again. I printed these at work in black and white and fudged the bay and sky colors.
The flood brings a rainbow
focused in feathers of thought–
fear waits in holding pattern between hands
Water comes, water goes–
energy will dive or float
or dissipate in waves upon the sand
Balance shifts uneasy–
now the steps of down return
rising like pathways finding mountained land
What is seen and not seen–
what is traversed and unlearned–
the finish line looms huge
(where it began)
Inspired by The Secret Keeper’s Writing Prompt #99
| EASY | FLOOD | THOUGHT | FEAR | HUGE |