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22: here's a story

Updated: Feb 27

Dear Friend,

As always, I hope that you are doing well and I look forward to hearing how things are going, your hopes and dreams, a riddle perhaps? Please write when you can. You cannot bore me, go ahead and try!

We’ll be back on the road again this week. It has been good to spend time with Miss B and I’ve gotten a lot of work done, but I’m afraid that there isn’t much new news to share at this point.

So, here’s a story.

Nothing but mirror met his gaze as the frog peered into the water. No wind, no creature in a hurry to take his reflection. This new place was another way to be alone. At least here, the stillness seemed to enjoy his company.

“Nothing but mirror,” he thought again.

He weighed equal to seven pre-spring lemons. His belly and palms were yellow like old hay, and the entire rest of him, a blended brown-green hue of scum and algae. His eyes bulged out of the top of his head and his lips stretched from one side of his face to the other. He was ugly to most. This made it easy for him to find himself alone, yet, because of his desire for company, his appearance brought him plentiful despair.

There would be a full moon tonight! This he had waited for, night after night, for the pond to fill, for the rains to bring life to this place.

A tick nodded, “Good evening,” and crawled on and away up an almond sapling.

“You’ve got a lovely home here, Tick!” the frog remarked, “And you’ve certainly got the view!”

He formed a whistle from within his chest and it deepened into a croak as it escaped out the gills below his ears.

“Stay as long as you like, frog,” the tick called back, “I’m in for the night!”

The frog nodded and blinked. Aloneness. Maybe a better greeting would win him longer conversations.

“Good evening,” he practiced several times.

He wished that his voice would be suddenly sweet, that he would suddenly seem lovely.

“Nice to meet you,” he croaked to himself.


I stand next to the pond with my coat zipped completely and my scarf wrapped ‘round and ‘round my neck. I’m so glad that there isn’t a breeze, but still, the air is so chilled. For the first time this year, I feel an icy aching in my feet. Two days into Autumn and my toes are already numb.

Sunlight lingers, the air turns orange-pink, and I stand still as stone, to listen as one lone frog begins to croak.

“arr-a-ka-raaaak, arr-a-ka-raaak”

What a beautiful and simple song.

“arr - a – ka - raaaak, arr – a – ka - raaak”

The shadows grow longer, the air is silvery gray. In the distance, I hear a second frog croak, and suddenly, the pond becomes alive with choruses of creaks and croaks, such a sweeping, happy sound, so loud and lovely!

The pond is in shadow. I listen and listen to these frogs, voices so beautiful… I close my eyes and feel, this song is joy!

“Oh, to be as bold as that first frog, the one voice that began this symphony!”

I turn to leave, the pathway home glows full-moon blue. I feel like singing.


Gently Be,


PS: Next week, I will resume tales from our journey. I appreciate you for taking the time to read Tracks by the Post. Thank you very much. Have a wonderful week!


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