With the frogs cartwheeling down the stairs
It's time to stop taking sugar cubes for cash
So there was a frog on the stairs yesterday. I was walking up carrying my books and pencils after tuition and this gray-green creature leaped across the stair in front of me to clutch the railing. First thought: "Not another lizard." Second thought: "Um, lizards don't leap". It just sat there blinking morosely (frogs are always so sad) at the very edge, as if it would fall down into the hallway with a splat and bounce away if I dropped a book on its toe. It was very disgusting. Although I still can't decide why it was disgusting.
And I can't think how it managed to get there anyway.
I got back from Adelaide on Sunday and it has quietly retreated, a small golden hover (Snitch?) of a dream holiday at the back of my head. Tartness of apple-cinnamon jelly and orange juice, warm-till-baking soft sand under stolen towels and sprinkling in between my toes, inches from the camera (horror!), cocooning me between Mel and Han. And every time you sit up it's cold again, crisp breeze and sun-burned teenagers. The window-seat in our apartment building and neon-green-faced clock tower, pig stomach soup and tofu, housing TT characters on long walks amongst the sweetest houses and shadows, buskers, beautiful knickknack stores, strong cheese and beefy flier-givers. "Ladies!" Remember? :)
So I came home and did GP homework, collected Wang Lee Hom articles for Yuwei, sent Christmas cards, struggled through chords, lived new scenes with fresh inspiration. I can never describe them; they come, exit the lift, lie upon paper and swiftly ingrain themselves. Of course, never without an argument.

"I remember, too, the light on the slopes, long shadows in tufts and hollows, with cattle, brilliant as painted china, treading their echoing shapes. Bees blew like cake-crumbs through the golden air, white butterflies like sugared wafers, and when it wasn't raining a diamond dust took over which veiled and yet magnified all things." - Laurie Lee, Cider with Rosie

"'Crawling at your feet,' said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet back in some alarm), 'you may observe a Bread-and-butter-fly. Its wings are thin slices of bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar.'" - Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass