No, I’m not going to begin by bursting into song, although the song is running through my head as I write this. Instead I’m going to write about bird feeding.
As a little child my grandmother would take me to feed ducks. We’d go for a walk with bread crusts and once we arrived, I’d break little parts off and feed them one by one to the ducks which rushed over, desperate not to miss out. Sometimes there would only be one or two ducks that came. The rest stayed in the water. I’d just assumed that they’d already eaten but perhaps they were content to just eat the natural food which surrounded them, not the strange brown and white mass offered to them by the giant stranger.
A different childhood memory involves seagulls and hot chips. Whilst I have never experienced any of the comical tales you hear about happening (the ones where seagulls swoop in stealing your food right out of your hand), I have dropped my food on the ground and seagulls have fought over it. If the situation took place in Finding Nemo, they’d all be shouting ‘mine’, each of them wanting the salty bit of yummineess that they saw as left for them and them alone.
Sometimes I’m like a duck who sits in the water ignoring the extras which I don’t need. But other times I’m like a seagull fighting with others for a tiny piece of something I have no chance of getting.
Sitting back can be hard when you want something. But a want isn’t a need and I have more than I need. So when I see something on offer and I know it’s not a need, I’ll try and remember to be a duck . . . not a seagull.