A Quiet Moment by the Water: Bernie’s Favorite Rock

Bernie had been sitting on a particular rock for what felt like a very long time.

Not because the rock was especially comfortable – it wasn’t – but because from here she could see things she liked. The sailboats drifting lazily across the harbor. The shingled houses tucked into the green hillside. The pale blue sky showing its slow, cottony dance overhead.

She was not lonely, she told herself. She was simply…without a companion.

A little breeze came off the water and ruffled her feathers in a way that felt almost like a pat on the back. She appreciated that.

Across the cove, a sailboat swung gently on its mooring, and Bernie watched it for a while. Someone was on that boat, probably. Someone with a sandwich, maybe. She thought warmly of sandwiches.

Then the grasses behind her rustled, and a small brown head popped up from the dunes.

“Oh,” said the newcomer, who was also a duck, and also, it turned out, very much without a companion. “I didn’t know anyone else liked it here.”

“I like it here,” said Bernie, with quiet dignity.

The newcomer hopped up onto the rocks beside Bernie. They sat together watching the harbor shimmer.

Neither of them said anything for a long while.

It was, Bernie thought, exactly enough.