WHY FROGS DON'T NEED POCKETS

This morning before setting off to take the train into the city to go into a building and sit at a desk all day for money so I can feed high quality tomatoes to the local monkeys, I was heading out onto the deck to move the ladder so I could put up the sudare (reed screen) to keep the hot morning sun out of the living room when a flurry of green movement down around foot level caught my eye: inside the screen door was a frog, repeatedly leaping at the screen beyond which gleamed the dawning sun.

The frog was leaping in the green amphibian certainty that such a course would take him toward the light (much in the way we embrace one creed or another). He'd jump and bounce back, recover, jump and bounce back, again and again as I watched, his effort not diminishing one bit; he looked like he might continue until he ran out of jumps without ever considering a possible alternative, so I opened the door and let him hop out. (I don't mind being a miracle, when I get the chance.) He hopped a prodigious distance, having built up quite a charge, then assumed a forthright stance and simply squatted in place, turning his head as though admiring the new and panoramic vista his very own energy had earned for him; then he chose a new destination and set out for it in obviously satisfying leaps and bounds, the irony of it all being that none of this progress was costing him a dime. And we humans call ourselves sapient.

Still, it's nice to be a miracle now and again.

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