The girl who was a duck

I dreamed that I was walking outside when a tiny little creature came running up to me through the grass.  It was so small that at first I couldn't tell what it was.  It jumped up and slammed itself into my lower leg, over and over.  I finally bent over and saw that it was a very tiny baby duck, all fluffy and yellow.

Then I realized that it was jumping up and bumping itself into my leg because it wanted me to pick it up.  So, I reached out with both hands (even though it was incredibly tiny) and lifted it up it front of me as I stood upright again.  Suddenly, it wasn't a duck that I was holding, but a little girl, perhaps two years old or so.  She had beautiful, dark hair and soft brown eyes.   She was the little girl that my husband and I were going to adopt.

Considering that my husband is 63 and I am rapidly approaching 53, it was ludicrous to dream that we were making plans to adopt a child.  Such is the world of dreams.

I love children.  I used to melt every time I saw a little baby, wishing that I could have another child in addition to the one I already had.

Perhaps I dreamed of adopting a child because of all the wonderful children that I've known over the years that are no longer a daily part of my life.


As my husband often reminds me when I have trouble accepting things as they are, "Life is what it is."

But I still miss those children sometimes, and hearing their laughter as they play. And I also miss those little girls who once were ducklings like me.