"I'm not quite sure, bird, what it is you need from me," said the Frog. "But I'm glad you came to my waters just the same. I'll make you read a little, write a lot, and question even more."
The Rooster pecked about checking out the yellow-skirted hens, and ruffled his feathers some. "What the cluck?" he asked.
"I'm not in the business of having answers," continued the Frog. "Instead, I'm in the business of listening to dreams and helping some to find what it is they are searching for. This Great Whatever thing is a little too much for me."
The Rooster checked the library he carried in his backpacks and the traditions he was told ever since he was an egg. He looked at the Frog and said, "I'm not sure I need your croaking. I simply want to understand the way you float on that lily-pad of yours."
He strutted his talons along the cattails for a few years and occasionally cocked his head in the Frog's direction. The Frog, however, paid more attention to the Rooster than the Rooster knew.
The Frog didn't know the Diva. He hadn't met Ganesha yet. Of course, he always wanted to to know Oprah (and was willing to come to Chicago for the off chance to meet her).
"Diva," he stated upon the reunion with the Rooster. "Meet my ol' friend from Kentucky. Ganesha, my dear Connecticut friend, I think you will enjoy this strange bird I once knew."
And they ate Armenian food on Ohio Street in the windy city. The Frog simply looked to the Great Whatever and teared up.
"This," he proclaimed to the sky. "This is something larger than all of us and I'm okay with that."