Two frogs lie opposite one another on the window pane. Each is a less than a thumb’s length (well, my thumb), a shimmering green with dull yellow eyes, always in a half-doze. They are not exact images, one being attached to the window a few inches to the left (or right, depending which), yet they look at one another’s semblance of their undersides, as if within a strange malleable mirror distorted by space but not time. As night enfolds this little scene, space separates the little halves, and time itself disappears. No revelation, no insight, no frog plopping into a pond, a la Basho. The light withdraws from the mirror, and I can only wonder where these little creatures have gone, until tomorrow, when they reappear again in the magic mirror.