Two Ducks

          Two ducks drift on a pond in a park, cooing in turn back and forth together.

          “Why do the humans rush?” One says to the other. “They all scurry like the ants beneath their feet. But none of them do anything. They just walk in and out of their towers. I watch them through the windows, and they only sit, and they stare at nothing.”

          “It is true,” the second says. “I have never seen them do anything. They go to their metal nests and ride their cars. But they create such beautiful things. The food they leave us is better than any root I’ve ever found, and this is what they leave for us.”

          The first spun in a small circle, dipping below the water to gather small plants. “But what I don’t understand is why they’re all in such a hurry to get there. What good do they do, travelling from place to place like that?”

          As they spoke, an old woman walked up and sat on a park bench. She leaned down and brought out a bag of old bread from her purse. The two ducks swam over to her as she began to toss down chunks of the bread.

          “I think that the humans go to their metal nests because inside each there must be a being like this inside,” the second replied. “One that provides them with their bread. In the same way we scurry from our roots to get their refuse, they scurry from their homes to get that of the being inside the metal nests.”

          “We must work for our bread, though,” the first said, dipping its head below the waterline for a sunken piece of bread. “We worship this human and in turn she provides us with bread.” As the duck said this, a goose began to approach the dropped bread, and the two ducks paused their conversation to chase it off, churning up the water and driving away the goose. “When we watch the humans through their windows, they only sit.”

          “Perhaps this is how they worship their being,” The second duck replied. “Who are we to know?”

          “Who are they to build where they do? Their metal nests rise up all around, only leaving us this small pond in the middle. Why do they think they could do that?” The first duck said through a mouthful of bread.

          “I have not been here long,” the second duck said. “And I am not long for this world. But while I have been here, I have made many children who went to many ponds across the wide earth, and this has been my impact upon the world. Perhaps the humans believe that by creating and expanding in such explosive ways they will leave their mark upon the world, to stand out from those who stand beside them when they rush to sit in the metal nests. What can they do to impress this world full of so many of them but to build something bigger than themselves?”

          The first duck sat in silence for a long time as the two ate their bread. “This is foolish,” it said when it finally spoke again. “They should just focus on making more bread.”

          I stand at the window of my apartment, looking down at the park in the center of my city. I sip my tea as I watch an old woman feed the ducks. An empty page sits at my desk, patiently waiting to be built up into something profound. I sip my tea and wait for my bread to bake.