An evening on Nokomis shores, summer's last ounce
the mallard sounds to announce
paddling until she's walking on sand
gracefully transitioning to land
waddling up the incline and sits beside me,
pruning on the grass sea,
her brown tweed with the purple stripped wing,
tucked like a fashionable clutch, her bling.
Now lined up,
one, two, three
matrons of honor
hens next to me,
head tucked in wing.
