“Hello,” said the blue poison-arrow frog. “Hello,” said the wolf. The wolf sniffed at the…
She survived the dwindling pool of tadpoles competing for food. She emerged from the muddy…
AKA “FINN’S FIRST DAYS HOME” – an hourly comic made in 2015 Enjoy!
Athena looks at her watch. She taps her manicured fingers against the table. Her legs are crossed over each other tightly. Demeter scutters in.
There was a single rain shower at the very beginning of the season. The frogs emerged from their winter hibernation in a vociferous choir that lasted well into the night.
Spring saw clouds forming every afternoon. Clouds evaporated in the evening heat – extreme, complaint-inducing, tree-shrivelling heat. The frog ponds dried up, executing the brood of tadpoles. The frogs disappeared, silencing the night.
But yesterday there was a tiny frog in one of my remaining pot plants.
This tiny frog, recently metamorphosed, perfect in form, has survived the dust bowl that used to be her watery home.
And so, we adapt.
The tar road gives way to dirt.
A kestrel sits on a broken telephone wire, puffed up, nursing a rat bite.
The telephone wire is broken. No one will be phoning today.
I stare out the window of the hired car.
A jackal trots down the road. We pull up to the security office, sign our names on the register. Reason for entry? Work, we say. Work.
Switch on the computers, measuring equipment. Dress up in protective suits, masks. We walk into the veld.
We find a pond. We take samples. We know what the results are going to be.
“Girls, I need to tell you something.” Heather interrupted her daughters’ play. Upon hearing the…
With slow, deliberate strokes he follows the lines in my face with his fingers. “You…