I shook my head – this must be this year’s crop of younglings.
They hadn’t got the hang of it. Getting from the walking path to the inviting river.
I was the unofficial “interpretative dancer” as my colleagues called it, showing the young ones how it’s all done.
Jumping up on the retaining wall, balancing so they could see the possibilities.
Turning, and stepping off the wall, splashing into the river.
Some caught on right away, and I would be surrounded by startled and amazed ducks. Others took more convincing.
Not that these ducks parents couldn’t have shown them. They liked to settle down on the lawn, and have a good laugh.
Then there was Henry. He thought of himself as my suitor and followed me around wet or dry.
The trials and tribulations of being a park employee with an extra title.
Written for Flash Fiction for Inspiring Authors, 13th prompt