Random Companions

The carved wooden figure is from a trip to Mexico. The frogs are from a yard sale. And Callas is Callas, from out of this world. The frog in the foreground has its own story: once upon a time it lived in my poetry box out on the front fence, back when I used to change the poem once in awhile, before I forgot about it. I liked that he was reading a book, maybe even an anthology of great poems. Then one day he went missing. Just gone. I figured he was stolen, hopefully by a poetry fan overcome by his love for a frog. Several months later, my neighbor was working in her garden and found the wet dirty frog in the bushes, where he had been dumped. The points on his crown were broken, but otherwise he seemed healthy enough. Now he lives inside with his sibling, and he never speaks of his adventure, although he may have written something in the back of that heavy book.