I was leaning against a large rock, waiting for a client to show up, and TJ was cleaning lenses. The cool autumn air filled with smells of leafy bonfires and snowy undertones bit at my nose, and I reveled in it. I loooove Fall.
To my left, a rustling, a soft sound of grass being tread on. I look over, then down. Next to my feet was a duck. It stared at me frankly, assessing the camera in my hand, my fluffy curly hair, and shuffled off to TJ. We both laughed, and I got a shot of the duck. We fully expected it to move away and wander on, but it didn’t. Instead, it hopped around, drinking water, shaking droplets off it’s feathers, and looking over at us, as if waiting for us to take it’s picture. It gazed at me over it’s bill.
“Paint me like one of your French Ducks, Jack.”
What the heck, why not? For the next 2 minutes, we shot the duck in the water, on the shore line, in the grass, and through the trees, and I realized I was taking shots that reminded me of a pensive senior session. The only thing missing was a hand balled up, underneath that little bill.
It brightened my afternoon, made me laugh, and when I was culling images from that shoot, I came across these, and realized the duck never got their sneak peek. They’ve probably been checking every day, and here I am, ignoring it. Sorry, Mirabeau Duck! Here’s some from our mini-session with the duck.