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By KateC (Katec) on Wednesday, February 27, 2002 - 02:12 am
Part One It had been raining all day. Outside, the night pond was very still. The frogs had gone, as always. But we weren�t ones to give up. Daddy started opening and closing drawers, rummaging. Eventually, he pulled out the flashlight. �Let�s hunt us some greasers!� We put our rubber boots on. I found us a couple of jars. We set out with a purpose. The frogs sang loudly in the flooded ditches. �Listen,� Daddy whispered. �There�s no finer sound in the world.� But the frogs heard us coming. Sudden silence greeted us. Daddy knew how to fool them, though. His own voice is all croaky. (The doctor slipped taking his tonsils out.) Daddy croaked softly, �Brrrrrr�UP, Brrrrraa�UP.� Pretty soon frogs were calling back. Catching them with a flashlight is easy. They can�t see your hand coming. We worked until we had a dozen. I like the spotted ones best. Daddy loves the plain green ones. They�re slippery little buggers. I think that�s why they�re called greasers. At home, we took them inside first. We gazed at them through the glass. They were brilliant green and shiny brown. There were two spotted ones. They had golden eyes. I could look at them all night. They�re so pretty I could cry. We turned them loose by the pond. They jumped right in. I loved hearing those little splashes. For that one night, we had music. Their chorus sang us to sleep. Part Two It may be a long time before the iguana is discovered; nobody was looking when I released him, and scrambling swiftly up a fat bamboo stem, his lime green matching the tropical foliage almost exactly, he�s all but invisible with his spiked dragon tail hanging down just like another exotic vine�I thought of all this ahead of time during the winter watching the iguana scrabbling against the window glass in my apartment, unable to comprehend glass, his only thought getting into the trees outside (here in the Victorian glass conservatory, the trees are inside; it�s a warm steamy jungle protected from the fog and the cold San Francisco winds), and I wait for the mist jets to go off again (you can�t be in here long without getting wet) while the iguana basks amid a thousand shades of green, and I wonder what it must be like to finally get your greatest wish like the iguana just did, dreaming his dinosaur dreams, sampling tender leaves, tongue flicking out to taste a droplet of water cradled like a jewel on a purple clematis petal, and I sigh wistfully as I wander slowly on through with the rest of the tourists and back out to a chilly afternoon in Golden Gate Park. |
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By Eithne (Eithne) on Saturday, March 09, 2002 - 08:36 am
These are both really good. I love the first one- nice rhythm, beautiful images. The short sentence length seems to convey a feeling of childhood and discovery. Very nice! The long sentence seems to go well with the steamy humidity and other-wordly quality of the Conservatoy. I can smell the hummus and wet leaves. Vivid. |
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By Katie (Katie) on Thursday, March 14, 2002 - 12:18 pm
Part 1 flows really well in short, child-like sentences and makes both the child and the dad seem playful curious and with good intentions. I didn't understand part 2 fully until I read it more than once. Maybe the sequence of ideas would have been clearer in a different order, or maybe I was just distracted. I really loved the message after I got it, warmed my heart and made me want to hug someone, which is always a great way to feel after reading a story, or any time. |
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