A Good Period

For a good period I sat there—sat on top of the very comfortable Ambassador.  Unaware, in fact, that it was the Ambassador.  Unaware and sitting in a comfortable way as the sweet water swam around me.  Unaware, of course, until the Ambassador made me aware of it with a move worthy of a biblical epic.  The water, every molecule of it—and there were many molecules, I must say, even given the shallowness of the river—probably at least two or three hundred of them; perhaps more!  Well, every one of those lifted out of its syrupy groove and flung themselves into the air like anxious little drops under a hand dryer.  They rose up—and I rose with them, in a constellation of fizz and steam.  It was difficult to see, actually, and did a hell of a number to the hair, so you can imagine it took a bit of time—a good period of it—just to recognize the Ambassador down there.  But when I did, it very well did me in!  Because what I saw, fifteen feet below, were five, ten—nay, fifteen!—little pairs of feet, each of them belonging to a baby chicken.  Marching, in as much as chickens can be made to march, at the command of Ambassador Revevevicez.  Marching forwards in the direction of the river, forwards like the river that, even with me in it, still followed along its appointed course fifteen feet above him.  I didn’t say a word; only listened to the funny sound of the water sounding funny as it twinkled in the air around me (a sound like lazy wind).  I didn’t dare draw attention, but in my mind I drew a picture of the Ambassador that was both more interesting to talk about and less likely to be talked about around him.  Luckily, I wasn’t around him.  I was fifteen feet above, floating, flowing where he walked.  Where he marched.  Where he created out of thin air, it seemed, his very own army of baby chickens.  The question I had: where were they going?  And what did they intend to do when they got there?