Ducks

Walking along the inlet on an extremely windy day which significantly dropped the apparent temperature I spotted two flocks of ducks. 20 or more black ones were flying and quacking loudly enough to hear over the roars of the gale in the leafless trees. Another group of buffleheads – tiny with cute white heads – rode in a larger group than I had seen all winter.

The sight was pleasing of course. Like many, I worry at the profound drop in quantity of what I once took for granted when younger. There are fewer birds, insects, wildflowers. No box turtles or snakes and vanishing milkweed. The lobsters are gone long ago. Bait fish and hermit crabs and gulls are still plentiful. But I wonder at tipping points, and when a few less become too few less and soon there are no more. 

Sometimes I fear I have seen the best of times. The planet was a lot bigger in my youth, a lot less people, a lot more truly wild spaces even tucked in the just-beginning-to-explode suburbs. More room for native species before monoculture flattened diverse farm ecologies into barren product factories.

Maybe it is too late already, but in any case I see few signs of grand hope. Maybe that is why everyone is so anxious _ even those theoretically surrounded by all they could ever want.

Well, I truly enjoyed those ducks anyway. Wished them well, as I do any transient beauty I may encounter day-to-day.