Fish, dog, monkey, driving the car.
Consciousness is scored on a sliding scale.
Daydreaming, life drawing, man, woman, machine,
A target only in transition. Like walking, a lifelong fall.
Beneath her calm face, a long dark sea loch lies thoughtless and still.
Until what looks like a female mallard
Swims ahead. Driving a personal wake.
Piloting a purposeful wave, just like ducks do.
Light glints from the rippling surface as water
Bobs up and down to carry her wave.
Is it like the tell-tale’s flicker on a salt taught sail,
A breath of quickening close on the wind?
If imaged and transformed will the waveform reveal
A message planing across unknown fathoms?
As a conductor’s baton, a tiny boatman keeps time.
Only up and down, up and down, in rhythmic vertical pulse.
Like the boatman the wave is carried dryshod
By wetnesses swollen with missive intent.
If a sudden hail shatters the loch, both will be lost.
Only silent water can sound her whispered wake.
Complexity simply favours the quiet mind.
In the distance is there a gently muffled quack?
Do sensors of mere matter twitch in far off envy?
Oh, yes. It certainly sounds like a duck.