The gift that keeps on hopping

I talk to the trees But they don't listen to me
I talk to the stars But they never hear me
The breeze hasn't time To stop, and hear what I say
I talk to them all In vain
But suddenly, my words Reach someone elses ear
At someone elses heart Strings too
I tell you my dreams And while you're listening to me
I suddenly see them Come true
I can see us some April night Looking out across a rollin' farm
Having supper in the candlelight Walking later, arm in arm
Then I'll tell you How I pass the day
Thinking mainly how The night would be
Then I'll try to find The words to say
All the things you Mean to me
I tell you my dreams And while you're
Listening to me I suddenly see them Come true
~ From Paint Your Wagon


The search for something more tangible to give brought this bright idea. What was one of the things he didn't have? Something no one else had given him? It seemed like a bright idea at the time. It took a while to find just the right one. He had long spindly legs that dangled when you held him, a nice even green coloring, big googly eyes that to me had a world of expression in the glassy green blue blackness and a flat line little mouth that reminded me of Stan from the comedy duo with Ollie. When I rubbed his throat he crooned a nice little song. It was the same tune he would always sing when just before the rains came. It did seem like a nice gift at the time, so holding him tucked in the flap of my chatka I went straight to the fires.

My heart did a double gainer when I saw him. Yes, I'd seen him before this moment, while he slept, when he ... soooo. This would be the first time he'd seen me since ... anyway, I went right up to his furs and knelt just like nothing in the world had ever come between us.

So he looks at me and asks ...

What do you wish of me?

I wanted to jump up and throttle him, pull his hair out, I wanted to pull my own hair out, scream .. "damn, I told you that long time ago .. just listen for once!" And I did, on the inside.

Does everyone want something of him, so much so that he has to ask what it is rather than just accept that someone enjoys his company and wants to ... give? It made me sad. It made me mad. ... He makes me mad. Why do I keep trying? Why should I even care? It still baffles me why but I just do. Instead, I just repeated something he had told me the day that ... nevermind. I thought he might want someone to 'beat for being the fuck about', though I did paraphrase it from the original just a touch.

Ever notice how when you are waiting on someone to say something ... anything ... in those moments that time just creeps by like you have an eternity at your disposal? He didn't cuff me and send me tumbling off the furs. He didn't end me right then and there for being impertinent. He just said he didn't need anyone for that right that moment. Sounded good to me. I could wait right there until he did and I didn't budge. Not a single hort. It was a start, wasn't it?

Might as well go a step farther, closer, nearer than the country mile we had hanging there in limbo. I gave him my little gift. Well, I tried to. It wasn't that he didn't accept it. He never actually said yes or no. I took it as a good sign. That and the fact he was able to meditate while I was there next to him but it did leave me sort of stuck there with this wriggly, long legged googly eyed creature extending out in my hands. That was about the same time, he took a flying leap. No, not him, ... the frog. I ended up chasing after the little green escapee that pounced off me and a few others there like a nice bank shot in a game of pool, yelling ... come back here! You are supposed to be a gift.

The last anyone saw of either of us was the lasting impression of my bottom diving under a wagon after the frog. Not exactly the effect I had hoped for.

The lesson learned from all of this? Frogs do not make good gifts. Stupid frog.