One foot forward. All the feathers ready.
“That one,” said the duck. “Just to see.”
She pointed to a small yellow flower beside the stylist’s mirror. She had been passing the open door when it caught her eye. There was no party to attend, no performance to prepare for, and nothing on her afternoon schedule beyond looking at things.
The stylist picked it up.
“On your head?”
The duck lowered her head helpfully.
One Flower
The clip made a quiet click. In the mirror, the yellow flower sat above one bright blue eye.
The duck turned left, then right.
“It looks lonely.”
The stylist held a blue petal beside it. The duck leaned closer.
That settled the blue.
Pink went behind it. Purple filled the gap. A small orange bloom arrived because the duck had noticed it waiting on the table.
Soon the crown spread well beyond her head, with soft white plumes rising from its edges. Each time she turned, something lovely turned a little later.
She tried looking over her shoulder. Most of the view was purple.
A Little More
The stylist stepped back with a matching spray of flowers.
“Your wings?”
The duck opened them.
Blue and violet feathers fanned along their edges. Green leaves tucked between the blossoms, and a bright pink flower settled near her chest. When she lowered her wings, the decorations rustled against her soft pink down.
The stylist reached into the little tray for a final blossom.
Empty.
She looked at the duck, then at the mirror.
“I think that is everything.”
The duck raised one wing, lowered it, and raised the other. The flowers made the smallest movements look rather important.
She took a step.
A white plume brushed her bill.
An Unscheduled Entrance
The duck wrinkled her nose. The stylist reached to move the plume, but the duck tilted back first, spread both wings for balance, and lifted one orange foot.
“Ah—”
The tickle disappeared.
The foot stayed up.
Across the room, the stylist lowered her hand. For a moment, she simply looked at the little duck beneath that enormous, entirely unnecessary garden.
Then she put down her comb and clapped.
The duck glanced at her raised foot. She extended it a little farther.
“Ta-da-da!”
The stylist clapped again.
This time, when a blue petal slipped sideways, she left it alone. The duck was already turning, taking tiny steps while the flowers swayed after her.
Room for Everyone
She stopped in front of the mirror and lifted her wing for another grand finish.
Half the wing disappeared beyond the glass.
She moved sideways. Now the wing fitted, but an orange flower vanished from the other edge.
The stylist watched two careful adjustments, then took the mirror off its stand and turned it sideways.
“Better?”
The duck leaned left. A white plume still escaped.
“Do you have a wider one?”
“You can see your face.”
“Yes,” said the duck, spreading both wings again. “But that orange flower has been ready for ages.”
Leave a Reply