I love this place.
Far from the city.
I go there in my boat, tie up at the familiar rock. One doesn't need keys or locks here. Come in, I'll make a cup of tea. Want a cookie with it? Wait, I keep some bonbons in this tin-can under my seat.
Our thoughts, naturally, drift to higher spheres. We discuss the emotional life of beetles, the dietary habits of stars…

Where is everything going in this universe? Well, it's floating by my hut on the river.
If you stay, we drink a few bottles of wine. You can throw the empties right out the window. I'm building an artificial reef , a place for bottle-nosed dolphins…

Filed at Mountains and Water

The whole neighborhood belongs to the Fat Cat. His offspring are past counting, with sons, grandsons (both in the male and female line), and further descendants. The whole brood finds uncommon happiness in a variety of festivals, dramatic performances (with plots of their own invention), eating parties and outrageous drunken bouts.
At the time of the full moon we dare not leave our humble dwellings. Doors are locked and double-bolted. Windows blacked out.

We old ones, loaded down with amulets, charms, and talisman conjure up spirits and raise ghosts. The noise outside becomes unbearable. What are they doing now? Are those the tires from our Mercedes?? But we do not dare look up.
Only an army of jinn could help us now!

The squirrel experiences momentarily the state of weightlessness—a rare privilege reserved for astronauts and falling bricks. Weightlessness brings on a kind of euphoria: one hears "The Saint-Louis Blues", played as a boogie woogie by Earl Father Hines.
Something tells me, that this little rodent will be reborn as a famous jazz pianist.