Tuesday, January 15, 2013

still feel the same

My sister is carefully crouching in the sandbox and probably emerged some time later as neat as a pin. I've abandoned frivolous concerns and have settled in up to my knees.
I am noticing that my sister is clad in coordinating separates. I on the other hand, am dressed like a small bohemian in a striped top and flowered shift, a trend that peaked in my teens.
I can see that my pail is full and I am tamping it down. I hope there wasn't a frog in it. The little boy next door and I would often find frogs and pack them around and bury them in random places like sandboxes. It was all in the interest of science. We would find frogs pressed into the mud, soundly sleeping in the early spring and pry them from their comfortable beds. Their lethargy alarmed us and we were sure they were very sick, that their lives were in our hands, which of course was all too true. As we packed them 'round and passed them from hot little hand to hot little hand, the drowsy, cold blooded frogs revived. What a miracle cure. I imagine that the odd, chilled little victim  tenderly buried in warm sand, experienced the same restorative cure that many winter vacationers crave.

P.S. I still feel the same way about sand, and about stripes and flowers, but not about frogs.

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