⏱ ~5 min reading
On the outskirts of the village, where the houses ended and the green valley began, there was a pond. It was not very large, but not quite small - just the right size for ducks. Its banks were overgrown with reeds, round water lily leaves floated on the water, and invisible grasshoppers sang in the grass around them.
In this pond lived a mother duck named Kwanya. She was calm, with neat gray-brown feathers and warm brown eyes. And she had five ducklings. All of them were yellow, like dandelions, with little orange beaks. All of them except one.
The smallest duckling was called Fluffy. He was also yellow, and also fluffy, but somehow… slower. While the other four were jumping out of the nest first, Fluffy was still wiping his eyes with his wing. While the others were already splashing in the water, Fluffy was just coming off the shore.
Every morning, Kwanya led the ducklings from the nest to the pond. It usually went like this: in front was the mother, behind her in a row were four fast ones, and behind, a little behind, was little Fluffy. He swam like a small boat: his paws rowed diligently, but slowly. The others had already reached the middle of the pond, and Fluffy had only just passed the reeds.
"Kvanya, hurry up with your Pushka!" the familiar ducks shouted from the opposite bank. "Or it will be like yesterday! And like the day before yesterday!"
Kvanya just smiled from the very corners of her beak and answered:
"He swims. He swims at his own pace.".
She never scolded Pushko. She didn't grab his wing, she didn't say "faster, faster." She just waited. Sometimes she would turn back a little, circle next to him and talk softly about the sky, about the insect on the leaf, about the white fluff from the dandelion that flew over the water. Pushko listened and swam. Quietly, concentrated, in his own way.
One morning, when a light morning mist still hung over the pond and the water was like glass, a large white swan flew onto the pond. It sat proudly on the water, like a small ship with white sails, bent its long neck and looked around.
The ducklings gasped in surprise. All four of them swam closer to take a closer look. And Fluffy had just pushed off from the shore.
The swan saw him and shook his head.
"Why are you so slow, little one?" he asked in a proud and slightly cold voice. "Can't you swim fast at all?"
The little duckling stopped in the middle of the water. His paws froze. He would have blushed if ducklings could blush. He lowered his head. He wanted to hide under a water lily leaf, like a blanket.
"I... I'm trying," he whispered softly.
The swan wanted to say something else, but at that moment Kwanya swam up to them. Calm as always. She stood between Pushko and the swan, covered her son with her wing, and looked at the guest in a friendly but firm manner.
"Good morning, dear swan," she said. "Thank you for your hospitality. But I want to explain one thing. My son doesn't swim slowly. He swims at his own pace. Not yours. Not mine. His own.".
The swan raised its eyebrows in surprise.
"In your own rhythm?" he asked. "Is that also good?"
"Of course," Kwanya answered gently. "Each duck swims in its own way. Some are fast, like an arrow. Some are calm, like a boat. Some are gentle, in their own way. The main thing is not to stop. And if you do stop, it's only to look at the beauty. Is that bad?"
The swan was silent for a long time. He twisted his long white neck, looked around the pond, the little ducklings, the reeds that swayed slightly in the morning breeze. Then he bowed his head.
"I guess I didn't think," he said quietly. "Sorry, little one. Everyone swims with their own song.".
Fluffy looked out from behind his mother's wing. His eyes were still a little teary, but already warm.
"Nothing," he whispered. "I'm not offended.".
The swan smiled, raised its white wings and rose easily into the sky. It circled over the pond, said goodbye and flew on to where the other swans were waiting for it.
The ducklings surrounded Pushko on all sides. The eldest brother rubbed his wing against him. The little sister squeaked in his ear. Kvanya gently adjusted the fluff on his head.
And then Pushok understood something very important. Not with words. With his heart.
Mom is not just patient. Mom is CONFIDENT in him. She doesn't wait for him to get faster. She loves him for who he is. And that's the most important thing.
The thought made his little chest feel warm and fuzzy.
From that day on, Fluffy swam differently. Not faster. Not slower. But with a smile. Sometimes he even stopped to look at the dragonfly sitting on a blade of grass, or to listen to the whispering of the reeds. And when the other ducklings quickly passed him, he was not sad. Because he knew: his mother was there. Always. And she loved him just the way he was.
And Kvanya looked at her little Pushko from the shore and thought: "The best thing I can give him is faith in his own rhythm."«
In the evenings, when the sun set behind the willows and the water turned pink, all six of them would return home. In front was Mom. Then the four faster ones. And behind, not far behind, floated Puffy. Quiet, calm, happy. Puffy, who swam with his song.
✨ Everyone has their own rhythm, and this is not a flaw, but their own way of being themselves ✨