I had this feeling that I knew a person who liked ducks.
It was while my mother was shooing one away from the front door with “bloody things” and a broom. This fragile memory peeped around the corner of my mind with such familiarity and intimacy I figured it had to be someone close to me - not a work colleague or an acquaintance - but someone I knew in the past; some one I liked close.
For the past few weeks I’ve been extra nice to ducks, hoping that maybe this memory might release more information even though none of the others have.