On my walk this evening I watched the diving ducks disappearing and bobbing back up, questioning if they feel the cold, wondering exactly what they can see, taste, and feel when they dive down. I had a chipped and almost shattered mug in my pocket which I tossed into the depths to swim with the fishes and with the splash most of the ducks flew off. A few paused at the far end of the water as if to question what does a mug do at the bottom of the pond.
If the river was whiskey
I would be a diving duck
If the river was whiskey
I would be a diving duck
I would swim to the bottom, but I would drink my way up
I would be a diving duck
If the river was whiskey
I would be a diving duck
I would swim to the bottom, but I would drink my way up
--Sleepy John Estes (1962)
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