not webfeat exercise, but webbed-feet exercise. in other words: night sounds. and that one about a duck.

when i was a child, our family had a jet black duck named "Downy".
i'm not quite sure how, in a household with three small children, my single mother happened to acquiesce to a pet. i'm certain Downy was some kind of rescued stray, and also certain that the fact we could keep him required some kind of finagling from my older brother. but we had our duck and were determined to cherish our unique pet. thing is, i remember Downy as a small, li'l bit ... smacking his little duckling feet across the terrazzo kitchen like one of those old-timey wooden push toys we knew as toddlers. and toddle away he did. following first me, then my brother all. over. the house. i remember his rubbery beak, and the way he'd dip his whole face toward the water bowl just to throw his soft little head back for one tiny sip. but as all creatures are wont to do, Downy didn't stay soft or young forever and rather quickly grew into a troubled adolescent. considering his natural tendencies and realizing he had no duckling mother to show him the ropes, we each took turn out in the yard tossing little Downy into the air and watching him earn his wings on the way down ... there was a lot of down ... thus his nickname that stuck ... i don't even remember what he was called before he developed this humorous habit of pretending he didn't know how to fly. this business went on for nearly 2 full years as we would accompany our pet duck outside and he would appear wholly disinterested in the wide, blue world of sky that could easily belong to him in a way we could never know as earthbound humans. and then something happened. Downy fell in love. and as his charming lass of a suitor lingered around the yard, Downy answered the siren's call one day and flew away. now. of course we were worried. would he make it in a cruel, primitive world? how can you know your domestic duck has what it takes to mingle in the animal world? it's like being the late bloomer at a high school party. would he know what to say? what to do? how to act? could he fly just enough under the radar to survive? so we worried. and worried. and waited. for what? we were not sure. and sure enough, it came. one day, we went out to the back yard to hang laundry on the line, and there was Downy running along the line of the roof. feet smacking just like in his tiny bird days. smack, smack, smack, smack, quack, quack, smack. oh, he was a wild one, after all...and had blossomed into quite a strong little personality we soon discovered. this vocal chattiness would continue even when we'd go back inside...gone were the days when Downy would come in and join us...but he didn't want to leave us either. [a typical teenager, after all]. i suppose after all, we felt like home. he'd run back and forth all over the roof. a slightly more muffled clap, clap, clap, clap from the inside. all. night. long. all. season. long. and seasons came and went and Downy would be gone and return to pace the roof and fly down into the yard only to chase my mother and me around every. single. time we'd try to hang our sheets in the breeze. he'd be there...pecking at our feet [love pecks, no doubt]. then the year came when Downy did not come. i'd never thought i'd miss that sound...infernal clopping. all night long. but, i did. and we feared the worst for our fine, feathered friend. winter, and then spring...and Downy came home again...much to our relief...this cycle continued long enough for it to stick with me still...now, some 26 years later.

there are times, like this one, late at night...when alone in my loft on this city block far, far away from that childhood home that i hear that same clap, clapping on my roof. it's caused me to open wide my great moon-saucers of eyes staring deep into the black of night as if i could see through the beams of my ceiling to...what?? what kind of creature i've never seen? here in this place of old historic neighborhoods and alleyways far away from the more rural landscape of my youth, it's probably some behemoth possum running back and forth on my roof. but, late nights, like this one, i like to think past the probable...and imagine that, it's my little soft duck friend having found his way home.