TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
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Today I stopped along the way to school by a little canal, where I watched a duck and drake perform a mating ritual among the swaying reeds. Heads dipped, first one, then the other, low and profound. Beaks skimmed the liquid surface, rose in concert with each other, and dripped, the droplets catching light, the light of a rare Irish moment of sunshine between showers.
Under the shedding, yellow-leafy trees, I watched the pair. At last a decision was made, by duck or drake, who knows, at least a sense of timing that was imperceptible to this body of human consciousness, and the drake boarded the duck and heaved-ho. Duck consciousness attends to such matters. This is vital for its continuation, what matters to it.
Never mind starving polar bears, confused penguins beaching themselves on Brazilian shores, and algae-choked oceans bereft of marine diversity, if not, alas, the diversity of commercial trawlers, of the many vehicles of capitalist will. So I watch them in their innocence ("innocence" has no part in a discussion on duck consciousness). Better this than to consider human consciousness and the abominations that it wrecks on this earth, in "innocence".