There are some evenings Behind the Puddle when there really isn’t much of a story.
Stella is fishing.
The mallards are swimming past.
And I am sitting on the patio watching all of it.
I have watched Stella stand almost perfectly still for what feels like forever, patiently studying water that I can barely see through. Then, without warning, that long neck moves, her beak disappears beneath the surface, and apparently she knew exactly what was down there all along.
The little mallards don’t seem particularly concerned about sharing the puddle with her. They paddle past while Stella continues watching the water, each of them occupied with whatever business brought them to this particular little patch of the puddle.
I could probably turn it into something about patience or attention or knowing when to act.
But tonight I don’t think I need to.
Sometimes Stella is simply fishing.
And sometimes I simply get to watch.
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