Quack

Rian took the Other Professor out to feed the ducks.

Twas a lovely nearly Fall day, odd colours glinting in the trees from the shadowy sun. Yellows, greens, the brown of fading annuals.

Rian keeps bread in the back of the refridgerator for duck feeds. Usually my companions are little people. But there is nothing quite as heart opening as the hypnotic toss of bread over hungry beaks.

"Let's have coffee," she said.

"Let's walk to the park and feed the ducks," Rian said. "And if you behave, I'll take you for pumpkin pie."

The ducks were loud and hungry, the reeds nearly waist high in some places. Rian spotted three blue dragonflies and one turtle. We sat on a fake marble bench and tossed hamburger bun at the mallards.

She talked. Nonstop. The kind of low chatter that is a constant request for reassurance. Statements that have a question mark at one end, yes? At one point she grasped Rian's hand and plucked my fingers.

I am fairly good at sitting still and listening. I do not know if listening, in itself, helps.

Afterward we continued on up the cobbled streets to the local bakery and gorged on pumpkin pie. Do not tell Rian's yogini.