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A chapter book for older readers about a young duck who lives with his friends in an old mill pond.

Prologue

 

 

          In the long lazy days of summer, there is a quiet humming peace that settles over the countryside.  The worries and cares of the bustling cities don’t exist here.  The rumble of the school bus has subsided for a time, and children are free to ride their bikes and roam along the dusty dirt roads at will.  Dogs bark excitedly as the children ride by, lunging against their confining fences, only to subside lazily in the shade of a porch or tree again.  Here, in the country, there are no clocks, no schedules to keep, no places to be.  There is only the warm sun, a soft breeze, and the rise and fall of the song of the cicadas, as hypnotic and soothing as any lullaby.

 

          If you are very lucky, on one of these warm summer days, you might stumble across a quiet mill pond on the outskirts of a small country town.  The old flour mill no longer works, its ancient paddle wheel is still now, and its weathered gray boards are covered with slimy green moss near the water.  But it is a still accessible by means of an old footbridge that spans one end of the pond.  The footbridge is a popular shortcut and the townspeople pass over the pond, some on foot, some on bikes, everyday.  The grownups always hurry by, but the children like to linger awhile, like to gaze down into the cool green mysteries of the water below and wonder what lies beneath.  Some people say there is a giant catfish that lives in the shadowy depths beneath the bridge, so old and wise it has never been caught.  Although often, in the early morning hours, old men in overalls with cane poles can be found dangling succulent pink worms in the jade green water, trying to tempt Ol’ Frodie to come out of hiding.

 

          If you look out across the pond, you might see families of ducks and geese swimming about, ducking their heads under the water, searching for darting silver gray minnows in the shallows or skittering black water bugs which hide beneath the lily pads.  You might hear the geese scolding as a little black water snake approaches their nest of brown speckled eggs on the bank of the small island in the middle of the pond.  Or you might laugh at the antics of the ducks quacking and squawking as they rise up, flapping their wings mightily in mock battle, before settling back down, preening their feathers and resuming their swim.  Pot-bellied frogs puff out their cheeks and leap from lily pad to a half-submerged log, startling an old mottled turtle, who was happily sunning himself there, causing him to flip back over and slip into the water.  You might even see a sleek brown otter, playing along the edge of the shore beneath an old cypress tree. 

 

And, if you are very lucky, you might just witness a remarkable story . . . 

Reviews

[Kittlecat]

I love the way you paint a picture with your words. I can see the scene unfolding. Very nice.

[Cyprian Van Dyke]

Lovely story. Lots of sights to see in your imagery. You have good word choice, like in "Preening." I enjoyed the read. Tyfs!