A frog's journey.

April 11, Salem.

Armando's truck had some problems at the start of the drive and we stopped along the highway coming out of town. There in the stormy darkness of dawn I cheered giddily.
As the wait dragged on and I was getting impatient I looked up and there was a frog, half-way across the four-lane highway. It jumped along in bursts and soon made it to the other side unharmed, by some grace of nature escaping the morning traffic.
That little frog was all I cared about, it was the wonder of a Michanlangelo painting, of a Leonard Cohen song, of the universe in its mystery and the why and the how, it was getting through the day, unharmed and giddy with the happiness of life's intricate miracles.
It is, still, and I can take it with me through my journey.