In March, the Wednesday topics are on River's blog. They were chosen by
Susan Kane, but her family is having medical issues. Ergo, if you want
to play along, hop over to
River's blog.
For today we had these words:
Field
Frog
Smell
Check
Visit
Gate
and/or:
Abandon
Immune
Temple
Hand
Minister
HabitBut first, the words and a story in Danish - for English, scroll down. - - - - - 🐸 - - - - -
I marts er onsdagsodene leveret af Susan Kane, men da hendes familie har helbredsmæssige problemer, er ordene at finde på River's blog.
Til i dag har vi fået de her 12 ord:Mark
Frø
Lugt
Bremse
Besøg
Barriere/spærring/låge
og/eller:Opgive
Immun
Tinding
Hånd
Præst
Vane
Jeg har skrevet endnu et lille afsnit af min uendelige historie om Susan på Enhjørningegården. Kronologisk er det et stykke ind i første år, efter at Susan har lært at lytte til andre dyr, end den mus, vi hørte om her.
Det lader til at bare det, at jeg besluttede ikke at skulle
deltage i alle de her udfordringer, har fået ordene til at strømme igen :D
Susan sad midt på marken. I dammen kvækkede en frø så Susan troede dens stakkels hjerte var ved at briste.
"Hvad er der i vejen, lille frø-mand?" spurgte Susan. Hun forventede ikke noget svar, men pludselig kom lugten af svovl forbi, og hun måtte bremse en impuls til at rejse sig op og løbe sin vej. Hun spurgte frøen, denne gang lidt mere bevidst. "Frø-mand, hvad er der sket?"
Frøen kvækkede igen, højlydt. I Susans hjerne dukkede et billede op. Frø-manden, der ønskede at besøge sin frø-kone, nu det var blevet forår. Men der var noget i vejen, en eller anden spærring.
"En barriere?" udbrød Susan. "Kan du ikke bare krybe under den? Du er jo lille."
Igen kvækkede frøen, igen så eller forstod Susan halvt hvad frøen mente. Det var ikke en barbarisere eller en afspærring, ikke en låge eller sådan noget, men et eller andet, der forhindrede hr. frø i at vende tilbage til sin dam og til fru frø.
Med manglende tanke for følgerne lagde Susan sig fladt ned på jorden og stak hovedet helt hen til frøen og åbnede sit sind for hr. frø. Nogle ikke så rare episoder med dyr, der ikke var pattedyr havde vist hende, at hun ikke var helt immun over for deres mærkelige sind, men frøen lød så desperat. Hun så ham tage en dyb indånding, hans kvækkeposer svulmede, og en lille åre i hans tinding pulserede i takt med hans hjerteslag. Han udstødte et kæmpe-kvæk, hvilket fik Susan til at slå hænderne for ørerne, men samtidig "så" hun frøens problem. En bæk, der gik gennem sumpen, lidt fra Enhjørningegården, var blevet fyldt af noget, der lugtede svovlgult og skarpt - synæstesi var et af problemerne ved at have med padder at gøre.
Susan lukkede sine øjne og sine tanker for frøen, og tænkte sig om. Der var en svovlfarvet lugt i vandet, som forhindrede frøen i at komme på besøg hos sin frø-kone - hun så stadig den lysende, iriserende boble, der var knyttet til dette begreb, og hørte de jublende triller. Hvad kunne den svovlgule lugt mon være ...
Hun rejste sig op, stadig usikker på benene efter den tætte kontakt med frøen. Hun vidste præcis hvor problemet var, nu skulle hun bare se om hun kunne finde ud af hvad det var.
"Jeg kommer tilbage, frø-mand," lovede hun.
Frøens lave, rumlende kvækken var et løfte om at blive.
Gåturen og den friske luft klarede Susans hjerne og gjorde hendes ben mindre geléagtige. Snart stod hun ved den lille bæk. Hun kiggede på vandet, der så helt ud som det plejede, intet unormalt der, så vidt hun kunne se. Så lagde hun sig på knæ og rørte ved det kølige, klare vand. Det føltes også normalt, men hun vidste, at det var det ikke - i hvert fald ikke for en frø. Hun formede sine hænder til en skål og smagte, puha, det var ulækkert. Skarpt, bittert og med en gul smag - noget af frøen var stadig i hendes sind. Hvordan kunne det være? Susan fulgte den lille bæk mod strømmen. Kornmarker, skove og langt væk nogle sommerhuse. Selvfølgelig!
Nu vidste hun det! Hun vidste, at præsten boede i et stort hus lige bag sommerhusene ved udspringet af den lille bæk, og han havde for vane at gøde sine roser, lige inden det blev regnvejr. Det havde han sikkert også gjort i forgårs, og nu generede gødningen frøen.
Hun kunne forestille sig to løsninger. Enten kunne hun bære frøen over det forurenede vand, eller også kunne hun neutralisere gødningen. Den første løsning er den nemmeste lige nu, tænkte Susan, mens hun vendte sig om og fortsatte i retning af frøen. Men jeg skal finde et antistof mod gødningen. I morgen vil jeg besøge præsten.
- - - - - 🐸 - - - - -
Back to Susan at Unicorn Farm. Somewhere in the first year, when Susan has been taught how to listen to more than the mouse we heard of here.
It seems that telling myself that I was free to join these challenges or not has made my brain work anew - the sunshine outside is not hampering me either. Susan sat in the middle of the field. In the pond a frog was croaking his poor heart out.
"What's the matter, little Frog-man?" Susan asked. She did not expect an answer, but suddenly the smell of sulphur wafted by, and she had to check an impulse to get up and run. She asked the frog this time a bit more deliberate. "Frog-man, What happened."
The frog croaked again, loudly. In Susan's brain a picture surfaces. The frog-man wanting to visit mama frog now spring had come. But the road was barred, by something, looking like a gate.
"A gate?" Susan said, "could you not just go under it? You're small."
Again croaks, again Susan saw or understood in some way what the frog meant. It was not a gate, not a real one anyway, but some kind of thing preventing mister frog from returning to his pond and to mama frog. With total abandon Susan stretched on the ground, putting her head close to the frog and opened her mind for mister frog. Some not so nice episodes with non-mammals had shown her that she was totally not immune to the lure of their strange minds, but the frog sounded so desperate. She saw him draw a deep breath, his vocal sacs inflated and a small vein started jumping in his temple. He send out the grandfather of all croaks, making Susan clap her hands to her ears, but simultaneously she "saw" the frogs' problem. A stream crossing the marshes off the Unicorn farm had been polluted by something having a sulphur coloured smell - synaesthesia was one of the problems communicating with amphibians.
Susan closed her eyes and mind to the frog, thinking. A sulphur coloured smell was in the water, preventing the frogs from visiting - she still saw the luminous, iridescent bubble attached to that concept and heard the jubilant trills. What could that strange smell be ...
She rose, still wobbly after the violent communications from the frog, she knew exactly where the problem was, now to see if she could discover what it was.
"I'll be back, frog-man," she promised.
"The frog's low, rumbling croak was a promise that he would stay.
The movements and fresh air cleared Susan's brain, and made her legs less wobbly. Soon she stood at the small stream in question. She looked at the water, nothing could be seen. She kneeled down and touched the cool, clear water, it felt normal as well, but she knew that it was not - at least to a frog. She cupped her hands and tasted, phew! it was nasty. Sharp, bitter and yellow-tasting - some of the frog was still in her mind. How come? Susan followed the tiny brook against the flow. Fields of grain, woods and far away some summerhouses. Of course!
Susan knew. She knew that the minister lived in a big house upstreams of the small swamp where the frogs lived, had a habit of fertilizing his garden just before the rain came down. She was sure he had done so the day before yesterday, and now the fertilizer bothered mister frog.
She saw two solutions. Either carry the frog over the polluted waters, or neutralize the fertilizer. The first might just be the easiest right now, Susan thought, turning around and continuing direction frog. But I am going to find an anti-potion to that fertilizer. Tomorrow I will visit the minister.
