I walked along the waterfront for an hour this morning, listening to Ravel. I found a bunch of ducks in front of a hotel and watched them for awhile. They were so busy, preening and washing and picking through their feathers, wiggling their tails and occasionally rearing up and flapping their wings. One or two feisty ducks would chase each other around the fountain, disrupting the others and setting off an irritated chorus of quacks.
There’s so much urban wildlife in Victoria. My house regularly receives visitations from squirrels, rabbits (both wild and domestic-gone-feral), raccoons, and of course the ubiquitous deer. Downtown Victoria has seagulls, ducks, and pigeons aplenty. So many of my nights out in Victoria have included this moment: walking down the orange-street-lit asphalt, heels clacking, wound up in music or chatter or longing, and I hear a seagull crying. I look up and see it, ghost-white against the light pollution, an elegant cutout gliding within the frame of office buildings. Today, though, it’s ducks all the way. Maybe I’ll go back and see them again tomorrow.
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