Quackery

[image error]

"They've been popping up everywhere," she told him. "On the radio, at the park, in random conversations. Isn't it true that a sudden proliferation of the unusual signals it's time to pay attention?"

'What?" he asked.

"I'm talking about meaningful coincidence. You know. Synchronicity. The universe trying to send me a message I need to hear." She paused, brow furrowed. "But what message could there be in ducks?"

He didn't know.

She asked around, "What do ducks mean to you?" But no-one provided a satisfactory answer, no startling insight was found, and the duck appearances faded.

Life sped on, serving up some challenging years that pushed aside musings about ducks. And then in the cyclic way of things, life settled. All was well and when a duck showed up in the yard and peered in through the windows (a Peking duck, no less), she was amused.

"Funny duck, look at you." She didn't seek meaning this time. It was only one duck.

And then life got complicated again. It wasn't an immediate complication; it was more like a slow-growing cancer, sneakily developing, not showing itself until it had the power to devastate.

Still, she didn't get the message of the ducks. It's difficult to read symbolism in the midst of sorrow and confusion. It took the turning of another cycle and the third appearance of ducks before she understood. When the universe sent her ducks it meant a curve ball was hurtling in like a hard-core comet, rounding the dark side of the moon, trailing fiery dust and detritus and if she'd simply listen literally, she'd DUCK.