Can you see sadness on a duck's face? Maybe I'm just projecting my memory of what happened on that morning.
For many years I hiked at Paris Mountain State Park almost every day, spending two to four hours on the trails there. I usually stopped by a Jack-in-the-Box and got a breakfast sandwich, hash browns and coffee, then sat on a bench beside the lake near the entrance of the park with my breakfast, before hiking into the woods.
From time to time, ducks -- usually mallards -- would notice me and paddle over to beg for food. Little bits of bread from my breakfast proved quite an attraction. Often the ducks would follow along in the water as I walked around the lake and sipped the remainder of my coffee. I have long-since stopped the practice of feeding bread to ducks, after learning it could be harmful to them, too much like candy for their systems.
For a few weeks back in 2011, a beautiful pair of white ducks visited the lake, American Pekins I think. They also liked bread bits and quickly came to me each day they saw me sitting on the bench, expecting me to tear off a bit from my sandwich and share with them; of course, I did. I became quite fond of them, their beauty, and their stark contrast with their surroundings and the other ducks on the lake. I guess I'm humanizing them, but they seemed like a very happy pair.
Then, one overcast and gloomy morning as I sat on the bench with my breakfast, I noticed a lone white duck, out on the uncharacteristically dark water, water usually lit up with sun and reflections of sky and trees. That was probably the first time I had seen one of the white ducks alone. They always stayed close to each other.
The lone duck paddled around, almost in a circle, seemingly directionless, confused. It ignored me, even when it swam close by, even though I threw bread bits near it. The bits just sank into the dark depths of the lake.
Something was wrong; I could feel it.
I finished my breakfast and began my traditional walk around the lake. The lone white duck continued to ignore me. I walked through the trees, following the path down to the dam, then down to the creek that captured the water spilling over the dam; and then I walked back up the other side, turning left at the top to continue my journey around the lake.
A few minutes’ walk alongside the lake bank led to an explanation for the lone and sad white duck, an answer I did not want to know after all. In the water, under some branches that reached out over the lake's edge, floated the other white duck ... upside down.
My empathy felt strong. Even as I write this, looking at the photo, I feel transported back to that day, when a beautiful thing came to an end, when a beautiful partnership ceased to exist, out in nature's world where nothing lasts forever.
I cut short my hike on that day, dropped by the Park Ranger's office to report what I saw, and then went straight home. My energy for hiking had been sapped from me. For the next few weeks I spent my mornings elsewhere.