Ducks and Ladybirds
The god of this world wears red wellington boots. There are black spots up the sides and the bright white eyes of a ladybird painted over the toes. Red and black bobbles hold her hair back from her round face in haphazard bunches – the work of a father late to his fields while a mother lies abed with one of her blinding headaches.
The god is free to roam today and roam she will. She takes the red blanket from her bed, ties it about her shoulders like a cape, and holds the corners outstretched like wings as she runs around in the yard. The geese are quick to waddle out of her path. They flap their wings in distaste, but there is no dismay in their hearts at the sight of the little one stomping around in her favourite wellies. Here, the girl is loved. Their bemused gaggling is part of the game.
Once several circuits of the yard have been made, the god plunges her plump hands into the bag just inside the back door and pulls out two fistfuls of grain. This she scatters before the geese. They peck ravenously at the ground as if the farmer has not already fed them that same morning.
Their god leaves them to their second breakfast and turns her attention to the wooden gate at the bottom of the yard. It is old, rickety. One of the planks is loose at the bottom and swings aside easily at a push from her hand. She squeezes through the gap and leaves the yard behind.
The little god crosses the narrow lane, clambers down into the ditch that runs alongside it and up the opposite bank into the cattle field. They lift their heavy heads at her passing. Jaws roll constantly, chewing the cud. A handful of the great beasts follow her. She pays them no mind. She skips across the field, narrowly avoiding the messes and mud pies they leave behind.
A small pond lies at the treeline. She crouches beside it to watch the water boatmen and the pond-skaters skittering about on the surface. With a finger she unsettles the duckweed and the water beneath and creates a maelstrom on the sea that swallows the boatmen down.
The pond is another world where she is the god. She plucks snails from the bank and turns them over in her hands. She giggles when their slimy skin touches her palm. Each one is carefully returned to its home unharmed. She only wants to look.
The warm breath of a cow on the back of her neck makes her giggle again. She pats its damp nose, for a moment teetering on the edge of two worlds – that of the pond and that of the field behind. She rights herself, turns back to the field with its cows, and wonders if the beasts would suit the sky.
The cow nearest groans as its hooves leave the soft ground. A clump of grass is still clutched in its mouth. It drifts almost lazily around the field, startling its fellows with this display of nature evolving the wrong way. When the god finally lowers the bovine gently onto its hooves again it snorts and bucks, shaking its head, then bounds up to her like an excited collie dog wanting to continue a game of fetch. She obliges. Before long, half the cattle are airborne.
The game lasts until she is distracted by something new – as she so often is. The cows sink slowly back to earth, and she turns away to watch the family of ducks that has just slipped into the pond. A mother and her ducklings all in a clumsy line. Their swimming is not yet the refined glide of their mother and their feathers are still yellow with the plumage of their youth. The god watches with a contented smile. She crouches again on the bank and waddles about with her knees bent and her arms tucked in, much to the amusement of the mother duck.
And so, the day is spent, her attention passing from cow to duck and back again until the winged family depart the pond and begin to march across the field with no fear of being caught under hoof. The cows are gathering at the top of the field. They await the return of the farmer, who will soon be along to bring them in for the night.
The god follows the ducks at the end of the line. At the gate, she waves goodbye and returns to her goose friends until her father returns home and calls her inside for supper and bed. Her mother is still unwell and declines to eat.
Tucked up in bed, under her favourite red blanket, the god closes tired eyes and falls asleep smiling. She drifts off, and the world around her winks out of existence to be born anew in the morning.