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[ The Ducks of Death ] It's a brisk day in Fort Wayne. The sun is shining but the trees are still bare and the grass is still brown. A gentle wind swinging carries with swinging it a swinging slight chill. You can tell spring is coming but it's not quite here just yet. The death grip of winter still has our city in its grasp, even if its fingers are slowly loosening. I am washing some dishes when I glance out the kitchen window. The man-made pond is slightly iced over. Bundled up tenants are walking their dogs on the concrete path. Lifeless branches from the willow trees sway gently in the wind. Then I see them. And I freeze. My pulse quickens. My blood runs cold. The pot I was washing falls into the sink with a clatter. There they are. Near the bushes. Just casually strolling. The ducks are back. If you haven't been a long-time reader of my journal, you will not understand why this is a big deal.
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