Alabama Frogs

Trolls or Frogs It has been raining for days, fine gentle precipitation and the sun ravaged ground, where I walk among olive trees, has turned deep green hiding gray stones in a verdant blanket of love. It is like a second spring minus a hot sun, a respite before the real winter sets in. A few big frogs cross my path it appears they wear black woolly coats, but perhaps I’m mistaken, they could be tiny trolls only seen by a privileged few. They live under the stones and since they do not read or have computers I wonder how they spend time. What did I do before computers and the lure of the internet? I did read hundreds of novels, but I have little patience for long books now. But I do read poetry, mainly written by the not so famous. The landscape smells new and fragrant, like it has had a bath and is half asleep. The ground is soft as a carpet in a luxury hotel, so I have to try walking lightly and not upset new plants. Deep silence except from a silky murmour, I think it is stones talking. The light is fading; time to go home light the fire, switch on the computer read and see how the world is getting along. The frogs, or trolls, can jolly look after themselves, but I remember eating frog legs in Alabama... tasted like chicken.