Going together doesn’t always mean going the same way.
Mother Duck had four ducklings behind her.
She checked.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Excellent.
She turned toward the path and began walking.
Behind her came eight tiny orange feet.
Pat-pat-pat-pat.
For almost six seconds, they formed a line.
It was beautiful.
Then one of them saw a flower.
Four Directions
The flower was white, small, and growing beside the path.
This should not have been important.
The first duckling disagreed.
He stopped and pushed his beak into the petals.
Mother Duck continued walking.
Three ducklings followed.
Then the second saw a dragonfly.
It flashed blue in the warm air.
His head turned.
The dragonfly moved left.
So did he.
Mother Duck looked back.
Two ducklings.
This was becoming administrative.
She gave a short call.
Quack.
The flower inspector looked up.
The dragonfly hunter remembered that he belonged to a family.
They hurried back.
Pat-pat-pat-pat.
Four again.
Mother Duck resumed walking.
Almost
The path smelled of warm grass and damp earth. Daisies leaned over its edges, and somewhere beyond the reeds, water made a soft shuffling sound.
Then they reached a puddle.
Three ducklings walked around it.
The third walked directly in.
Plip.
He stopped.
One foot remained underwater.
He looked down.
He lifted it.
Put it back.
Plip.
Apparently further research was necessary.
Mother Duck turned.
Three ducklings.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Quack.
The researcher hurried out of the puddle, leaving tiny wet footprints behind him.
They gathered again.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Mother Duck began walking.
A pale leaf drifted down.
The fourth duckling watched it.
The leaf turned once.
Twice.
He turned with it.
The leaf landed behind him.
So did his attention.
Mother Duck did not even need to count this time.
Quack.
Together
By now their journey had acquired a rhythm.
Line.
Wander.
Quack.
Gather.
Walk.
Wander again.
Nobody was lost.
Nobody was unhappy.
They simply seemed to have different definitions of going somewhere.
One noticed flowers.
One noticed wings.
One noticed water.
One noticed things falling from trees.
Mother Duck noticed all four.
Perhaps moving together has never required everyone to look in the same direction.
A family can share a road while stopping for different things. One person walks quickly; another notices the clouds. Someone wants to reach the picnic table. Someone else has found a very interesting stick.
The destination survives.
So does the stick.
Mother Duck, fortunately, had no need to formulate any of this.
She had ducklings to count.
A Perfect Line
Near the end of the path, something remarkable happened.
The flower had been inspected.
The dragonfly had disappeared.
The puddle was behind them.
No leaves were falling.
Four ducklings quietly arranged themselves behind their mother.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Straight.
Evenly spaced.
Walking at exactly the same speed.
Mother Duck glanced over her shoulder.
She blinked.
A perfect line.
At last.
She faced forward with what might have been satisfaction.
Then she noticed a particularly nice patch of clover beside the path.
Mother Duck stopped.
The first duckling did not.
Bump.
The second duckling hit the first.
Bump.
The third hit the second.
Bump.
The fourth arrived last.
Bump.
Mother Duck looked back at the heap of yellow fluff behind her.
Apparently, disorder had been safer.
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