The migration of frogs -- on wet October nights, indistinguishable from the fallen leaves on the pavement, until they leap, their pale underbellies glinting in the street lights -- we have them here as well.
Reading this, I felt the kneading/needing, the pulses of both the frogs and the two people, the greater dark passage of nature and an intimate one. Skins. Goals. Reverence. A certain death of possibility.
I'm so happy you understood it like this, Jean. I don't like to say what a story is ‘about’ but you have put your finger on the thoughts I was having during the writing of this.
Just learning how to navigate this substack, Chris. I can see you commented on my comment on your frog story, but I can't see your whole comment. It should show up in its entirety in the notifications, shouldn't it?
I could picture everything. Beautifully written. Poor little froggies.
Loved this story, Chris.
The migration of frogs -- on wet October nights, indistinguishable from the fallen leaves on the pavement, until they leap, their pale underbellies glinting in the street lights -- we have them here as well.
Reading this, I felt the kneading/needing, the pulses of both the frogs and the two people, the greater dark passage of nature and an intimate one. Skins. Goals. Reverence. A certain death of possibility.
I'm so happy you understood it like this, Jean. I don't like to say what a story is ‘about’ but you have put your finger on the thoughts I was having during the writing of this.
Ok. I was able to read your full comment via my email. 👍❤
Just learning how to navigate this substack, Chris. I can see you commented on my comment on your frog story, but I can't see your whole comment. It should show up in its entirety in the notifications, shouldn't it?