Neither quick-silver clouds
to mar the horizon,
nor giggly toddlers
hiding from their nannies
to disturb this peaceful hour.

Just the peak of a lovely day
for a few harried workers
basking in the warm, comforting glow
of autumn sunshine,
away from life's never-ending
narcissistic quests.

Suddenly,
emerald coif and ritzy tail,
a mallard drifts into the picture,
leisurely trawling the pond
for whatever delicacies
ducks nibble at lunchtime.

A glorious, artist-moving sight:
paper, brushes, pencils, cameras
slide from pockets, jump out of bags,
seeking to immortalize
such a fleeting display of grace.

So, here I am, fountain pen in hand,
poised for a memorable wave
of poetic inspiration... And yet,
the only words that come to mind are
duck à l'orange.