Three Ducks

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In the midst of the stream, there are three white ducks. In my head, I number them:

Duck one, duck two, duck three. 

A creative, as always. 

I sit on the concrete ledge, wondering if I can tell the difference between:

Duck one, duck two, duck three. 

Duck one is a little bigger. Duck two has a scar on its beak. Duck three has a few of its white feathers tinged yellow. 

There it is.

Duck one, duck two, duck three. 

And as I watch them, I see them observe me as well. I wonder what goes on in their minds as they look at me. 

Do they think its strange I’ve just taken off my coat? Do they think I’m intentionally waving my hair, as it blows in the wind? Do they ever notice, some days I visit and some days I don’t?

Do they wonder why there’s only one of us now?

Do they miss you, the way I do?