They closed, simultaneously, directly over my head. The nearest one was close enough that I could see some detail on the pilot s helmet. It was over before I knew it was happening. Now, the mallards operate a few decibels below the Blue Angels, even with their wild quacking, and duck wings are admittedly inconsequential compared to turbine jets, still, there was something marvelous about having some of God s creatures pass so close while on a natural errand which had nothing to do with me. It was as stunning and unexpected as the jets, but without the body piercing thunder.
Ducks take on a whole new shape in flight.
Gone is the chubby waddling creature. No more is the puffy feathered floater of the pond. In the air, the feathers are tightly held, and their surface looks as smooth as metal. The head is stretched out in front, bill pointed straight forward. They are streamlined.