Just Ducky

Yesterday I'm tooling down Sacramento (which turns into Humbolt) which cuts through Humbolt Park and see a mother duck and about eight little ducklings at the curb of the road, looking to waddle across a four lane street. I'm thinking of metal meeting flesh with blood and feathers everywhere. (Would one of my fierce tribe gladly mow down a family of ducks just for kicks? I shudder at the thought). I come to a screeching halt, (luckily no car behind me), put my hazard lights on, exit the car, and proceed to send the whole crew scurrying back into the park towards a little gurgling stream. I get back in my car and dodge back into a flurry of traffic. I'm now on the road thinking (ala Holden Caulfield), "who is going to look out for the ducks?" It seems like a silly, naive, question, and at the same time, I'm thinking it's the only question worth pondering. Of course, I don't rightly know the answer. I just hope that Mother Duck is on the ball. They all may live a long, ducky life, or come to a horribly gruesome end. And is it only hazard or chance that calls the tune? That would be my tentative surmise. It would be nice to think that someone, or something is looking out for them, that there's some balance or justice and that little family of ducks will make it to do what ducks do, but who can say that's the full story? There's a doubt that creeps into the frame. Anything can happen and probably will. That's the reality...this is the land of a million authors.