It rains into the large pond in the center of the garden town Maudlin. The pond ripples with drops. Koi circle. Lilies float. Long grasses ring the pong. Frogs hide within croaking. They jump onto lily pads. They lick dragonflies from the air with their long tongues.
Ponds wet and dripping provide homes. Frogs don glasses and vests. Long-whiskered catfish wear monocles.
Water drips down jade-colored rocks.
Pale pink stones lie in the shallows. Visitors meet edges of water and barriers of grass. One Maudlin bridge rises over all.
Visitors stand at the center and overlook the wet land. The frogs greet everyone and sing. They stand on their webbed feet. Visitors stare into their gaping red mouths.
The capitol, Regret, is a house made of mud and sticks. Many people can fit inside. Inside the air is moist and it smells like sweat. The people kneel in a sage smoke and wait for the warm air to lift their burdens from them. The air is dense, hot, and difficult to inhale. People funnel in and out. They come from the bridge where they have been looking and sighing and enter Regret to grieve their losses. The frog-men chant and croak. The droopy-headed visitors stay silent. They less said the better. They strip off all of their clothing and stand around the edges of the stick hut waiting for their skin to become too hot and too wet. Then, as they leave they are handed a towel. They wipe the excess moisture from their skins and return to the cool air of outside wearing the light green and slightly damp towel. Their hair hangs lank and their skin is now slightly green and mottled like the frogs’ skin. Some people stay in the stick hut for days or years becoming greener and greener and some growing webbed feet and hands or even whiskers and gills.
The capitol, Regret, is a house made of mud and sticks. Many people can fit inside. Inside the air is moist and it smells like sweat. The people kneel in a sage smoke and wait for the warm air to lift their burdens from them. The air is dense, hot, and difficult to inhale. People funnel in and out. They come from the bridge where they have been looking and sighing and enter Regret to grieve their losses. The frog-men chant and croak. The droopy-headed visitors stay silent. They less said the better. They strip off all of their clothing and stand around the edges of the stick hut waiting for their skin to become too hot and too wet. Then, as they leave they are handed a towel. They wipe the excess moisture from their skins and return to the cool air of outside wearing the light green and slightly damp towel. Their hair hangs lank and their skin is now slightly green and mottled like the frogs’ skin. Some people stay in the stick hut for days or years becoming greener and greener and some growing webbed feet and hands or even whiskers and gills.
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