Fornicating Ducks Mad About Fuzzy Tweed Truth Blowing In the Wind

Margaret was sitting by the pool, gazing at the yard, just relaxing and enjoying life. Soon she noticed what appeared to be two ducks fornicating on the pond. (Fornicating is a more acceptable term than the other word that begins with the same letter and, oddly enough, rhymes with ducking which should not be confused with duckling.) But the fornicating ducks weren’t ducklings, and no, Margaret didn’t check their IDs to be sure of their ages. She did take note that they weren’t all fuzzy like ducklings which led her to the conclusion she concluded about their non-duckling status.

While you might think that an image of ducks fornicating on a pond doesn’t need to be described in detail, Margaret thought it did. Mostly, she thought this in retrospect, hence the use of the past tense in most of the sentences. Her retrospective thoughts were quite detailed and since we’re in her thoughts now, fornicating duck image details will be forth coming or coming forth, but not coming fourth because coming four times is just not that common with ducks.

And it (meaning the detailed description of fornicating ducks in case you lost track of what I was writing about) also serves to explain the moral of this tale of Margaret and the fornicating ducks which will be revealed at the conclusion of this duck tale which will occur shortly after the climax. Of the story, of course, not of the fornicating ducks, though they may have climaxed, too. (I love sentence fragments that almost sound like they should be a sentence.) You’ll understand the confusion about the fornicating ducks’ conclusion after reading the sentences still to come, but now back to our tale as Margaret sees it.

The bottom duck appeared to be madly paddling on the pond, its wings extended but not flapping. The duck mounted on the back of the bottom duck appeared to be madly flapping its wings. With all the mad paddling and flapping, Margaret expected to see these ducks making some waves in the pond in what she knew would be a terrific example of the circle of life (though just the beginning of the circle) drama that occurs daily or maybe more than once a day in nature. But the fornicating ducks weren’t making waves in the pond, because just as there is no spoon, there was no pond, or ducks for that matter and this matter. Imaginary fornicating ducks get around.

Margaret knew there was no pond, but was still sure she had seen the fornicating ducks. She shook her head, looked away for a couple of beats of the song that was playing in the background or her head. She couldn’t always tell. She looked back, trying to find the fornicating ducks.

At last, she saw them, only now they appeared to be a tall weed or very small treeling. Sapling is probably a more correct term. It’s possible treeling isn’t a word. But whether ’twas  a tall weed or tweed as tall weeds are sometimes called, or a small treeling, Margaret was disinclined to investigate the difference preferring to continue to sit and stare at the weed thing which is what she called it, though it never answered.

As she continued to gaze, she saw the the bottom duck shape come into focus, feet madly paddling. It’s bottom resting on a thin wire strung between two fence posts giving her the impression of a watery surface. Then the top duck shape came into focus, wings madly flapping. All of this mad paddling and flapping was the result of the wind blowing through the leaves and branches of the weed thing beyond a wire fence.

And though she knew she was looking at the wind moving a weed thing, Margaret still saw fornicating ducks on a pond and she thought her impression was more interesting than the weed thing moving in the breeze. She didn’t wonder if those two things were different versions of the same reality, instead she wondered if she was perhaps a bit daft or if she should cut back on the poolside frozen alcoholic beverages she enjoyed. She realized she preferred being a bit daft to relinquishing her poolside frozen alcoholic beverage which on this day happened to be a rum runner.

Margaret knew if she could derive some important moral truth from the fornicating ducks glimpsed in a wind blown weed thing, she would be neither daft nor a lush. She thought quickly and not too deeply, as was her habit and realized that things aren’t always what they appear to be. Sometimes they are more or less interesting.

However, some people familiar with Margaret’s tale of fornicating ducks understand a truer truth though I’m not sure if truth should be measured in degrees. The truer truth some people know is that sometimes the real point is that there is no point at all. Again, the ‘at all’ seems a bit superfluous.

I feel compelled to apologize for the promise of a climax and the anti-climatic nature of the actual climax. There was one, an actual climax, that is, but it wasn’t one of those blow your socks off if you still have them on (it’s a man thing I’ve observed) kind of climaxes. No, it was more like the man in your life is a resident of Suffocate City though I’m not implying that he’s a permanent resident, more like a refugee and every now and then old habits pop up, so to speak, or write. And those Suffocate style couplings don’t always yield the soul soothing, so delicious to be alive kinds of feeling from a climax we all crave. Cravings can be so delicious.

Speaking of delicious cravings, the Hagen Daz coffee ice cream is whispering to me. I don’t normally mention brand names and it clearly didn’t help with Tootsie Pops, but it is quite possible someone at Hagen Daz will be grateful to me for mentioning their delicious ice cream and they will reward me with a supply of free ice cream, or maybe a coupon or two. Probably not, but it could happen so I have to throw that thought out to the universe before the conclusion of this tale which should have already ended and now it is.

Oh, and that definition of tweed mentioned earlier is not entirely true. Sometimes, I like measuring truth in degrees.

Margaret’s poolside view, though it is difficult to depict wind moving though tall weed things to reveal fornicating ducks on a pond in a photograph so you’ll have to use your imagination.


12 thoughts on “Fornicating Ducks Mad About Fuzzy Tweed Truth Blowing In the Wind

  1. It was kind of bizarre to read your post about fornicating ducks while overlooking Duck Cove here in Maine. Some might say Cosmic. I would say Mallard.

  2. I like how Margaret’s mind works. And you have the best post titles of any blog out there. If I had money I’d hire you to name mine.

    • I will happily give you title tips, if you would care to provide some honest criticism and tips on how I might improve. SInce you are a published writer of what I found to be a very good book, and I am a prolific reader, I value your perspective and insights. Of course, all I do is find some words from the text of what I just wrote and rearrange them until I like the way it sounds as if read as a headline of a newspaper or a local newscast teaser. You know, like you expect the next words to be “news at eleven.”

  3. Okay, I don’t even know what to say. But I like it.
    Once years ago, I saw someone lying in the highway, and people running towards this body. No one else saw it. I scanned the newspapers (before internet) – I never found any story. Could I have seen something else? Am I psychic? Could it have been ducks fornicating?

  4. I know it’s easy… which means it’s most likely cheap… but I can’t resist… “What the Duck?” I think I’ll now make myself a rum runner(s) and see what kind of fornicating fowl I can conjure up. Cheers!

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