Wild ducks

The air is permeated with nocturnal forest humidity and the dim light from the distant lamps of the houses across the valley barely makes its way to me. In the heavy smell of wet leaves muffled rhythmic calls of the leader of the flock are heard. I listen to the ordered swish of their wings. Sounds like thrusts of rowers in long heavy boat. They fly in concentrated stupor.

Spring is coming.

The sound was fading away behind the trees when the phone rang. A Letter from Maui.