The next day
was one of those warm, humid, autumn days in Austin, the kind
that makes Texans wish for a change of season – boring,
even monotonous weather, but nearly perfect for the Pecan Street
Festival. Occurring twice a year, in both the spring and the
fall, this outdoor festivity with all of its artsy-fartsy
paintings and peculiar handicrafts was something I always
welcomed. For the past six or seven years I had made a point of
attending at least once each year. However, this fall, as I
wandered through the street perusing the different vendors’
booths, I couldn’t help noticing that many of the arts and
crafts were the same as the last time I attended. The festival,
like most of my life, was beginning to look a lot like the year
before. I, too, found myself wishing for a change of season.
Then I heard a voice, like that of a
Shakespearean actor, booming out into the wandering crowd of
festival goers, "Ladies and gentlemen, children of all
ages, step right up. The show is about to begin. Come see the
incredible, amazing, astounding Maximillion as he attempts
miracles beyond the concepts of human imagination!"
His words sent a chill up my spine, but not
the kind that is a foretelling of something ominous, more the
feeling you get when you're experiencing something extraordinary
– like goose bumps. I was intrigued by this deep and
thundering voice of possibilities. Led by my own curiosity, I
weaved my way through the crowd until finally coming to a
clearing at the street corner.
