Zen Frogs

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"Don't mind the frogs." He told me.

"The frogs?"  I repeated.

"You'll see."

He lead me through the door, holding back the stings of beads for me.

The shed wasn't really much of a shed as it was a bungalow turned bohemian paradise.  It had more windows, for a start, than what a shed normally would, shells and beads and sea glass strung up and hanging in them.  I could see the cement floor beneath the different braided rugs. The walls and roof were lined with ply wood, painted a soft cream colour with an assortment of home made shelves, tapestries and wall hangings, dream catchers, fairy lights, macrame pot plants and rainbow prayer flags hanging all over.

The one that caught my eye was the black and white mandala hanging above his bed.  The bed itself was raised on top of several pallets, the only plain, simple thing in the entire area.

There was a window in the south wall, beside the door, and two more in the west, each of them covered in soft muslin.

And then there were the frogs.

There were several of them, staring at us from the window right as we went in, dopy grins plastered over their bright green faces, sitting and standing in different yoga positions.

"Um..."

"They're zen frogs."

"I... see that."

"Yeah, don't ask."

I giggled, and gave him an imploring look and he grinned back, shrugging sheepishly.

"Rae and I saw them once and thought they were hilarious, and I told her that if I ever lost my mind and started decorating with zen frogs, she could come and take the LSD away from me."

I laughed.

"So, if they're here, then you obviously lost your mind?"

"She's trying to convince me, I know it," he explained.  "They just... turned up one day.  I'm blaming her, but everyone's denying they know anything."

"Maybe they just came here themselves?" I suggested.

"You sound like her," he groaned.

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