Saturday, May 15, 2004


One of the very fine things about having grandkids is that they take you back in time to the great moments in your own childhood and you live them all over again through new eyes, all the great adventures, as when Kaya and I late last night (for her), at just about her bed time, instead of her going to bed we got out the flashlights and went for the first time (for her) out into the big dark to look for frogs and bugs and whatever we could find that lives in the night, and see what goes on there while Kaya is usually sleeping.

How she jumped and squealed at the prospect, and bounced out the door with all the excitement that bides in a child (I recalled that kind of excitement, it was still my own) as we entered the night with our little lights to find what we could at the end of the shine: miracles we saw, like the salamander sitting there under the paddy water for so-o-o-o long not breathing, not moving, until Kaya shone her brighter light on him and he backed away... Kaya remarked loudly on the amazing fact of that, then lit up a big flashlight-bright green frog swimming far off through the clear brown-bottomed water out to a good spot to begin singing loudly for all his friends, who were already singing loudly in fine voices from everywhere in the night.

Another frog came swimming right to the bank where we squatted, and sat there staring up into our lights with his golden eyes; then when we turned off our lights and were in as dark as it could get there was Venus up there like a star X 100, just above the lip of the mountain we were on, and the night and its dark were no longer fearful things, when we got home they fit just right around Kaya's dreams.

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