{this moment} : : sunny

Joining Soulemama and many others

with a special moment from the week.

Feel free to share your own 

'moment' link in the comments below.

Happy weekend!

Pigeon's Lonely Duckling

Scout

Father was the first to see the new ducklings. It was late evening in late April, and the sun had just tipped the sky towards twilight. Come look! he cried,  pointing out to the pond. Mother and Pigeon came and squinted out into the pinkish dusk. They heard them before they saw them, squawking and squabbling at the muddy edges of the water. Mama ducks and papa ducks were grouped together in families at different corners of the pond, nuzzling at swarms of tiny little heads bobbing up and down at their flanks. Father grabbed the camera, and Mother found some old stale bread. Pigeon held on tight to her shoulder, and down they went to welcome their new friends.

Pigeon watching & being watched

The mama ducks heard them coming. They honked and hollered and high-tailed it away across the pond, nudging and knocking their little ones into line beside them.

It's what I would do if some large, strange creatures were coming at me with my babies, Mother thought. They waited at the water's edge, their feet sinking into the mud, and watched. The papas nudged and flapped the little yellow balls of fuzz into the water, let them swim, and nudged them out again. Mamas led their troops to food. Babies followed close beside, the occasional slow-poke scuttling over the water to catch up to his family as they circled the pond. But the ducks would not come close to Pigeon's family.

Oh, well, let's leave them some food, Mother said to Pigeon. Maybe they will decide we are friendly and come back tomorrow. She scattered torn bits of bread over the shallow inlet, and they went inside.

The next day, the ducks did come back. When Mother spied a family nibbling the grasses at their bank, she took Pigeon and a few slices of bread back down to the water's edge. This time the mamas did not swim away. This time, they came closer. They were not afraid. Pigeon pulled at the grass and sucked on his toes while Mother counted ten ducklings. They named the mama Lucinda. Another duck family came by, with a papa. They looked more like a Mathilda and Jack. Their babies were still little, but quite a bit older than the others.

Lucinda

Mathilda and Jack

Lucinda's babies

Mathilda & Jack's children

That evening while Pigeon napped, Mother and Father heard a howling. At first they thought it was Pigeon, awake in his bed. But it was coming from the thicket beyond the pond. They listened for a long time and worried over the ducklings. Father wanted to protect them, but their was nothing he could do.

And then Pigeon's family left town for a few days. When they returned they didn't see any ducks at all. But it was a stormy day, and they weren't surprised. But the day after that was sunny and calm, and the pond was still very quiet. Finally Mother spied a lone mama duck. Was it Lucinda? Let's take her some bread, she said to Pigeon. Maybe the ducks found another friendly bank while we were away. Maybe if we feed this mama, she will bring her babies back...

But when they got to the pond's edge, they saw she wasn't entirely alone. And she wasn't Lucinda. This mama was much smaller and thin. Close to her side was one lonely little duckling. He looked much younger than Mathilda and Jack's children. Where are your brothers and sisters? Mother asked. Where are your friends, your uncles and aunts? But of course, the duckling didn't answer.

The pair seemed pleased for the bits of bread Pigeon had brought. They ate for a long time, even wandering up into the grass with webbed feet to nibble the stray crumbs that had fallen there. Maybe they will bring back their friends tomorrow, Mother said.

The next day the thin mama duck was back, and beside her the same small, lonely duckling. But the only other duck to join them was an emerald-headed papa, also smaller and thinner than the others. Mother hurried to take them some bread. Mother noticed how the papa duck let the other two eat before he did. He looked like a Gordon. The mama was Pearl. And the lonely little duckling had to be Scout.

Pearl & Gordon with Scout

Was he (she?) a sole survivor? A sweet little runt, needing extra days at mama's side? Perhaps the thin, quiet couple had adopted little Scout. Whatever their story, Mother was happy to show them some hospitality, for she was the mama of one lonely little bird herself. These ducks were a family, and they were willing to break bread with Pigeon and his parents. And if they were all that was left of the flurry of life that had erupted on the doorstep a week before, well, then they needed a safe, friendly bank to find their feet on. Pigeon's pond was indeed a place where a lonely bird could find a friend, a patch of mud warm in the sunshine, and a few scraps of bread to share.

{this moment} : : nuzzling

After a long pause, joining Soulemama and many others 

to share a memorable moment from the week.

Leave a link to your own moment 

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A safe and happy weekend to you all!

{this moment} : : Pigeon and peas

Joining Soulemama and other mamas in sharing a savorable moment from the week...

Feel welcome to share your moment link in the comments below.

Happy weekend!

A New Spoon for Pigeon

Pigeon sat in Mother's lap and watched her eat. His eyes and mouth were open wide. He leaned his chin in whichever direction the food was, watched it disappear into Mother's mouth, then flashed her a beseeching glance tinged with despair. It seemed to him that the world was full of more colorful and delicious things to eat than plain, white milk--and they were always just out of his reach.

But you are too young, Mother tried to explain. I would share with you if I could. And she meant it. She could see Pigeon was curious, and she sensed this was good. But most things, maybe all things besides milk, were too strong for a four-month-old belly.

But then, Pigeon was nearly five months old. And the look in his eyes made Mother feel guilty. So, while Father went to the store, Mother found a package of Pigeon-sized spoons and a very small dish she could use for a bowl. Father came back with the tiniest jar of sweet potatoes he could find. Just a spoonful or two will do it, she said, stirring the orange paste into the dish.

They sat Pigeon on the table in his special blue chair with the tray and fastened a bib behind his neck to keep him clean and dry. Then Pigeon ate. He ate with gusto and joy and anticipation. And though he wasn't any expert at swallowing, it didn't take him long to finish his meal.

A few days later, Mother pulled out a new chair for Pigeon to eat in. It was larger, more comfy, with an even bigger tray for his bowl and spoon. When the potatoes were gone, Pigeon got to taste bananas. In the cupboard waited even more treats: carrots and peas, pears, and peaches... Just a few of the foods just fit for a Pigeon. Aren't we lucky, Mother said, to have so many delicious things to eat? For plain white milk was all well and good, but the rainbow of fruits that came from the earth, the textures and flavors and their endless combinations, could do more than feed the body. Food brings people together, Mother said. It certainly brought her close to her Pigeon. We must know it's a gift, she thought, and be thankful.

{this moment} : : independence

Joining Soulemama & countless others

with a single moment from the week

for savoring & safekeeping.

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Feel welcome 

to share your moment 

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Wishing a 

warm & happy weekend

to all!

Pigeon's Early Spring

In Pigeon's yard there is a hill. At the bottom of the hill leans a slim, young willow. The willow's branches dangle over a pond. Beyond the pond there is a thicket. The thicket borders a small, square meadow. At the edge of the meadow stands a tall, proud tree. Under the tree sits a still, brown cow. And the sun shines over them all.

The heat of the sun was a new thing for Pigeon, who had been outside many times before, but had never gone barefoot; he'd never wiggled his toes in the grass, nor felt the warm breeze delight the buttery-white skin of his arms. The sun had never been strong enough to turn Pigeon's cheeks pink or prickle his brow with sweat; he'd known only the crisp autumn air and the weak winter light.

But this week, the sun shone brave and bold and hot, and though there was a wind, it was a warm, welcoming kind that coaxed people out of their doors and buds out of their branches. Some trees wore half-sprouted blossoms like broaches; others were wrapped in a gauzy green mist. This early burst of life set the birds singing, the bees buzzing, and the daffodils blooming. After noting how unusual, how lucky and welcome the warmth was, there was nothing left to do but enjoy it. And so Pigeon and Mother went out in the yard; they walked down the hill and stood under the willow. They followed the path between the pond and the thicket, gazed at the meadow, and bowed to the trees. They sat with their faces to the warmth of the sun, as contented and quiet as the still, brown cow. And the Love shone over them all.

{this moment} : : where we live

 Joining Soulemama with a
moment from our week 

for savoring & safekeeping.

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A safe & happy 

weekend to you all...

A March Wind for Pigeon

There was an old saying, Mother said, that March would come in like a lion, roaring and tearing things up with its restless power. On the second day of March, Pigeon was napping when the lion opened his mouth in the sky overhead and announced his arrival. His breath bent the trees to the grass and raked the sides of Pigeon's house like a thousand magnificent claws.  

Hush, little baby. It is only the wind.

But the wind gave way to the lion's roar, a sound like the sky splitting in two. Out of the crack spilled beads of ice that pelted the roof like broken glass. Pigeon watched it bounce off the concrete and collect in the cracks of the patio.

Hush, sweet angel. It is nothing but hail.

Pigeon watched the hail dissolve into a curtain of water. For a moment its rushing was all they could hear. Light like the flash from Mother's camera burst in the air over the pond, where even the water was blown to one side to make way for the hard March storm.

Hush, little one, it is just the lightning and rain.

And then, as quickly as he'd come, the lion had passed. Pigeon could hear his rumbling trail off in the distance, could see his banner of flickering light retreating.

Later Mother and Father saw pictures of a darker path March had torn to the south. They sucked in their breath at the destruction and the sadness already sewn in the spring almost upon them.

But there was another half to the saying, Mother said, that March would go out like a lamb, with a warm breath on gentle breezes and a step too light to be noticed. March would skip without guile through their yard with crocuses draped around his neck like silk ribbons, give way to April with its gentler rain and tender budding branches. Lions and lambs, storms and sun, destruction and redemption, death and life and the promise of new beginnings.

Hold on, precious child. The Light is coming.

{this moment} : : camping in

Pigeon's Mom loves this tradition begun by Amanda of Soulemama:

"A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."

We'd love to see your moment as well!

Share your link in the comments below...

Happy weekend!