Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Empty Nester/Retirement (from work) (09/10/09)
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TITLE: Flock-lore | Previous Challenge Entry
By Cecile Hurst
09/13/09 -
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“I suppose I’m not beautiful enough for you then,” sulked Mrs. Love-duck. “I can see already, after ducklings have moved on and your grand name has been dispersed into the avian world that you’ll leave me and my empty nest to the foxes and the hounds.”
“Of course you are, my dear, my precious feather!” Her Mr. quickly turned his head to say, “I was only thinking of an old, old tale…”
“What tale is that?”
“A tale that’s told of a bird so ancient and so rare that it doesn’t have a name, who sold its song for a magical nest.”
“Oh – I’ve heard that tale before, and now to be sure I know that you are lying! No swan reminded you of that waterlogged story! For that bird of renown was said to be the ugliest bird and the most terrifying thing in flight!”
Mr. Love-duck gave a loud quack of disagreement before he said with as much patience as his new-husband mind could muster, “To be sure I was NOT lying! And because I wish more than anything else to put your new-wife jealousies to rest I shall now relay to you all that transpired in my mind: We were paddling along, wing to wing, enjoying this evening’s hush, and I was thinking how I am the luckiest duck in the world. I was saying to myself ‘When ducklings who would be have moved on and your grand beak has been dispersed into all the avian world, that I’ll be the happiest empty nester that ever was or ever will be because I will be with you.’ And I started to prepare a sonnet for you.
‘Retirement for us shall never come
For my love for you shall never tire.
It will grow in strength, never dire,
A work of admiration – heart from –
A work of passion for my queen’s kingdom.
My heart’s on fire!
To be your king I aspire!
I gather for you every crumb,
For you deserve all and more
Of everything my heart could give.
You so worthy to adore!
I grovel at your feet to live,
In the light of your…’
It was at this moment that I looked up and happened to lay eyes upon the swan across the water. When I saw her I thought to myself how very like that empty canvas the human painter had been staring at the other day she was… how empty and wanting her colorless feathers seemed to be compared to yours, my soft shimmering beauty, and I was reminded of that rare bird of years gone by… how it too was lacking something; and I wanted then also to compare you to that ancient lore – us really – how I foresee we’ll never be wanting in life and love. But then you broke this bit of revere with your pecking and jabbing... Surely now you see my eyes, though be they beady, are beady only for you?”
Mrs. Love-duck blushed under her light brown down and gave a duck-coo, snuggling her head at her husband’s chest plumbs, dipping ever so slightly the bottom lip of her beak in the cool river water.
“Do tell me that story,” she said quietly, “for to be truthful I quite forget most of it… about the rare and ancient bird without a name.”
Mr. Love-duck then flapped his wings and lavished his wife with a bit of very well told flock-lore, I must say so myself. Supposedly this unnamed bird, ugly and awkward, the very last of its kind, yearning for lasting love, had sold its surprisingly beautiful song for a magical nest. This nest made it impossible for one who graced it to ever leave. The bird then lured the dazzling phoenix into its trap, plotting a child of mixed-feather to continue on its line; but the phoenix, when it learned of its plight, burst into flames destroying itself, the nest, and the bird.
Though the moral of the story is good, the ducks would make a better one if you asked me.
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