augury doggerel

Sunday, December 30, 2001

Kid, Ducks, Whoville

Yesterday the kid ran things. She and the woman went to work (the building, not the activity) with me so the kid could play with noisy online things and print pictures for coloring while I either darkly pondered things or gamboled about goofily, depending on whether she was busy with the computer or busy with me.

When she tired of the marvels of high bandwidth network access, we hopped the bus to ducktown and fed a load of bread crumbs to about a hundred ducks and one swan while all of us, feathered and featherless, stood in the sleet and quacked (the swan was mute). By the way, that line about water and a duck's back doesn't quite hold for sleet: some ducks were sleety.

When the bread ran out, we said goodbye to them and walked under an abandoned railway bridge -- they stopped building that line when the Nazis came to town -- and into the woods, where we threw snowballs at each other as we walked home through the trees. I had the kid convinced that a public garden in a snowy hollow below us was Whoville. It must be genetic: her mother believed in Saint Nick until she was 11, when her parents thought it best to break the news to her.


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