jazz with frogs

11 03 2008

I like to have the jazz on downstairs while I read upstairs – as though I was in a reading room above a jazz club… but that means that I have to rouse myself to turn off the music before I can sleep. I sit on the stairs to read a bit before I descend. In the pause between the songs the chorus of the frogs from the ponds in the front yard fill in the gap with their own improvisations. I stand on the deck, the rain has stopped, the moon is the merest thumbnail in the West through the trees. The frog music overloads the senses. I don’t have the ear for it — it needs long listening, I suppose, to fully appreciate the patterns. But one theme is clear…Spring is really here, they sing – At last, spring is here! My muscles ache with it, after the labors of yesterday’s sawing and mowing, but it is a good thing, certainly a good thing.


the shortest story ever written

8 03 2008

Hemingway once wrote what he called the shortest story ever written:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

from http://www.slate.com/id/2185856/pagenum/2/