Ribbit

photo by joeball

There’s probably way less difference between the conversations of frogs and those of humans than we think.
 
I know that if you wander off is a bit, you’ll find a sweet spot distance at a balance point between the two where the sounds harmonize perfectly, in pitch, tone, and volume. So why not subject matter, too?

Also, it’s clear that we have no more influence, via our thoughts, on the world than does the impetus behind all that croaking. Listening to the echoes in my mind, I surely can’t tell the difference between what I was hoping for and what actually happened.

Perhaps it is the case, as was pointed out, that the only real distinction between ourselves and our amphibian brethren is that we can make fire and they can’t. I’ll buy that. That’s the spark of human consciousness.

Culture’s ability to pass along the message of fire is probably, as Prometheus’ tasty liver illustrates, its number one accomplishment. So, why not, as tehJobies seemed to suggest while hefting the box of Duraflame logs, maximize BTU’s whenever possible?

One thing’s for sure: the higher the flaming Jenga pile rises, the louder our own singsong becomes. I’ll bet the same thing’s happening throughout the melodic marshlands.

The next moment is forever around the corner, so it’s remarkable when one can be sufficiently immersed in the symphonic cacophony that the present sounds are plenty for future and past, as well.

Frogs become princes become frogs all over again.

It's all about being there as it unfolds, especially if you get to be surprised.

Stephen said that if you think of Professor Dave with your heart, he’ll eventually appear and while I’m not sure that always happens, I do love the idea of hearts with minds, because, after all, what else are we expressing as we pedal to conflagrations and circle about noisily than those thoughts which form in our core and rise to the surface in unison, unbound?