Reading · Worriedman’s Substack

Toad

Mary Oliver

I was walking by. He was sitting there.

It was full morning, so the heat was heavy on his sand-colored head and his webbed feet. I squatted beside him, at the edge of the path. He didn't move,

I began to talk. I talked about summer, and about time. The pleasures of eating, the terrors of the night. About this cup we call a life. About happiness. And how good it feels, the heat of the sun between the shoulder blades.

He looked neither up nor down, which didn't necessarily mean he was either afraid or asleep. I felt his energy, stored under his tongue perhaps, and behind his bulging eyes.

I talked about how the world seems to me, five feet tall, the blue sky all around my head. I said, I wondered how it seemed to him, down there, intimate with the dust.

He might have been Buddha--did not move, blink, or frown, not a tear fell from those gold-rimmed eyes as the refined anguish of language passed over him,

Presented for educational purposes Copyright held by the author’s estate

What a terrific poem !

This is not a toad, This is a Pickerel frog. They are beautiful!

Also not a toad - this is a Copes Grey Tree Frog.

They can change color from gray to green. They are also winter hardy. There's a compound in their blood that acts like antifreeze. They are also cute as hell.

Bluejay way!

Note from the proprietor

Things suck. You need a vacation.

https://youtu.be/Ro1OBd_WruA?is=FoOvodC0OBTPmzZ1

Black and white French films aren’t everyone's cuppa- give the first 10 minutes a try- watch until she goes out on the balcony and you see the view. You’ll probably watch the rest .

The scene with the dog on the road and then the boy on the bus usually fix whatever problems I may be having

This is a good clean copy on YouTube for free. Another sign that God loves us and She wants us to be happy.

Huck says a thing-