Mylady: Pawns in a chess game

One of the green pawns is my dearest earning our freedom chips. I pray his eyes are open.

Music

Lying on my back listening to the frog choir in concerto I could not help but feel at home.

The big, fat, bullfrog keeps the bass rhythm. The baritones keep the tune. The tenors add spice. Every now and then the bell frog adds some soprano notes to the tune. Now they sing with full volume and then again they fade so nostalgically soft in a sleepy humm just to be kicked alive by old mister bullfrog in renewed concerto.

Squeaking and squawking and moaning and groaning and singing and humming as MYLADY glides or crashes through the waves or falling off it, but never quiet. Shaking the decorations into place, and the dishes out of place. Twisting and turning and kicking just like a bucking horse on those throwing waves. But ever so joyfully gentle.

Our sail yacht MYLADY, at home on the sea. She is a good sail lady. And God is good to us.

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Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Pawns in a chess game