Sunday, November 23, 2008

Chapter 17: A Hop

I must apologize for the recent falling-off of new entries.  I am, however, tied up in quite a long narrative involving my most Smart and Skilled companions, which I have been working on for the past few weeks.

Please rest assured that my Friends are doing fine, and we are as magnanimous as ever.

Mustardseed has been helping me with my writings, and offering many useful insights and perspectives.  He has recently taken an interest in psychology, which we discuss at length, while I sit next to the Dwelling, late into these chilly nights.

Mote has been experimenting with materials within the tank, using them to construct more comfortable places on which to sit.  She has also been teaching Peaseblossom some of the nuances of swimming, and has also shown him a trick or two about hunting, one of which is to stalk the prey like a cat, using stealth and fluid motions.

Peaseblossom has been getting along well, and has shown much promise in his ability to snatch Morsels.  At first he was a bit timid about his companions, but they have since warmed up to each other, and they now complement each other well - Mustardseed provides direction and sagacity, Mote ensures that all the Frogs meet their dietary needs, enhance their skills, and get enough exercise, and Peaseblossom adds a bit of spontaneity, urging the Frogs to play an odd game or climb upon an unconquered plant.

I have poured many of my energies into the creation of my new work - it has been quite an explosion of inspiration.  I do not know how long the work will be, but it has been a great joy to write thus far, primarily because of the inclusion of my amphibious Friends.  The story may end up upon this electric Frog-journal.  In the meantime, I am sorry for any negligence caused by my busy-ness and urge any readers to stay posted, for there is surely more to come, as long as Frogs are Frogs.

Below, I have posted a poem that was inspired by the countenance of Mote, peering at me during the relaxed silence of a Fall evening, while I was working.  It may go at the beginning of my new work.


A Frog-
Belly embracing the ground,
Head tilted, eyes peering at me.
Bent to fit their shape is the reflection of its world:
Wet and Mud and Bugs.

I think of figures, systems, calculations, conjectures,
Potentialities, stratagems, logic-mongering,
The consequences of consequences,
Yet the Frog peers.

May my world be Wetter, Muddier,
And all my empirical efforts be Bugs,
Which, peering at their predictability and their peculiarity,
I gobble, and hop onward.

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