When the clock clanged in the black of the night, he arose and fumbled in the lack of the light, shivering and trembling as he lit a wood fire, cooking hot grub the cold day would require.
Looking out the window at the raging gale, he smiled at the snow and laughed at the hail. Let the cold sleet fall and the fierce wind howl, that nor’easter’s bringing me the waterfowl!
He grabbed rubber boots, shells, and his gun, put on his slicker and hit the door on the run. The road was slick and the weather was harsh, but he cranked up the Lizzy, heading for the marsh.
In his boat were the decoys he called his ‘stool’, hand-carved birds that turned ducks into fools. Poling and pushing as he broke through the gloom, he knew that the dawn would spell duck doom.
Chipping through the ice, he set out his dekes, hid in the rushes and rubbed frost from his cheeks. He heard a soft quack and the sound of their wings, it was music to his ears, and it made his heart sing.
Forgetting the cold and the wet and the wind, he shouldered his gun and fired and he grinned. This was what he lived for, the thing that he loved. Long live the ducks! And thank the Lord above!
I liked it so I thought I would share
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