Ray Rasmussen
Untamed River
Overcast sky, late March. A small crowd lines the banks of the North Saskatchewan River to watch the ice breaking up. Cheers as it cracks and buckles and large blocks break free. Some push against the bank. Brown earth, gouged, tumbles into the frigid waters.
Mid-river, a female mallard preens on a large sheet of ice. She’s but a spot of brown, mottled like the dry sedge grasses that will provide cover for her brood under the soon-to-come spring sun.
My wife turns to me. “Pair bonding takes place in November. Where’s her mate?”
“Do something, Lady Duck,” I call out. “If you just sit there, you’ll end up in Lake Winnipeg. Go find your drake.”
My wife laughs. “Maybe she’s the new, emancipated lady duck. She’s glimpsed of the trials of raising ducklings in a tooth-and-claw world of foxes, coyotes, snapping turtles and peregrine falcons.”
Home after our walk. As we warm ourselves by the fire, I look up at a photo of our two daughters and muse about the one who has been drifting in a world of teen drugs and sex.
street teen
no smile as she calls out
“spare change?”
Notes:
This is a revision of a piece previously published in contemporary haibun online.
Images: Mallard by Alan D. Wilson, Wikipedia Commons, naturespicsonline.com.
About the Author
Ray Rasmussen is retired and enjoys hiking, photography, and canoeing with his partner, Nancy. They reside in Halton Hills, Ontario, Canada. He previously served as editor in chief for Haibun Today. His haiku, haiga and haibun have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies.
Wow, a very powerful piece, Ray. I know from personal experience how scary it is when your child goes astray.
Nature described so well. The end is hard-hitting and leaves me feeling lost.
That’s quite the twist at the end of the prose, and the haiku is poignant.
Thanks for the comments, Terri, Neena and Martin. Neena, would like to dialogue a bit further on “feeling lost”. Do you mean you don’t get the connection between prose and haiku?