Thursday, June 24, 2004


My drive to the dentist must be one of the more beautiful of the world's many drives-to-the-dentist, it winds along the small road that skirts the Lake shore, the first road, the old road, the road in all the histories, all the folding screens and all the woodblock prints of this part of Omi.

The road to my dentist

I always enjoy traveling that road, even to go to the dentist. But on this occasion, when after all that beauty I arrived at said establishment and turned off the motorcycle, I was surprised to find that I was not traveling alone. Out from under the handlebars hopped a small green frog who'd hitched a ride all the way from home, and who after all that beauty now sat there on the chrome staring pointedly at the non-aesthetic sight of the dentist's office.

Then I noticed a larger frog on the fender, doing the same thing. Obvious seekers of beauty, the two of them. I asked why they'd come to the dentist, though, since they had no teeth, but I didn't have my shovel with me, so they didn't respond. I went inside; they stayed, staring, as though waiting for the beautiful ride back.

Sure enough, when I emerged an hour later, the green duo were still there, and traveled with me all the way back home, seeming to love the breeze in their faces, such speed being a rarity in their lives; they stared right into it. If they'd had hair, it would've blown wildly.

When we arrived at our place on the mountain the larger frog jumped onto my leg, croaked a quick thanks, then leaped to the ground and home with stories of his amazing adventure. The little frog dozed off on the sunwarm handlebar. Teeth or no teeth, it was a beautiful trip.


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