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A lone duck sits on a pond.

Clouds drift by in the sky.

Tall trees shade the ground.

A warm wind blows in from the west.

Far off smoke turns the day to night.

The duck swims calm laps.

The heat moves in fast.

White ash falls on the pond.

The duck stays.

Once far off smoke is now a close up blaze.

Tree limbs crack and crash on the ground.

The flames eat all.

The air is thick and dense with smog.

Still, the duck stays.

Bright flames dance in the duck's eyes.

The pond is now a deep blue spot in a ring of red.

The duck is a speck at the core of it all.

The fish look up from the waste on the pond's floor;

they wish for the duck's wings.

They think:

Why does the duck stay?

They don't see the wound.

Not all ducks can fly.