The crowd was going wild, clamoring to get to me. All eyes were on me, each fan begging for more, hoping I would turn their way and toss even a small crumb of what I had to give. And yet they seemed almost … afraid, awed as I towered above them like a god. I was stunned. My thoughts went to years past, when I was not so different from them, trying desperately to catch a drummer’s drum stick, a guitar pick, a free tee shirt. I vowed to please them, to prove that I wasn’t like the others, that I really cared.
Of course, I had only so much to give. Still they dove and swooned for that, their bills thrust out for whatever they could grab. I smiled at the shy way they looked at me, cocking their heads for a better view. And to think I had nothing in my hands but stale bread. They were so grateful, eagerly washing the bread down with water from the pond. It was a high, I must admit, to have such devotion, such need from them. The peeps, quacks and murmurs as they fed were music like no other. They flocked around me, getting as close as they dared, swaying on their broad feet to the unique rhythm that we created together.