All This Fiddle, and: Pensées

Tonight, even the frogsAre out there, discoursing to darkness,Regurgitating air, getting it said.Man is a thinking reed says Blaise PascalThe wind comes, and we quiver with ideas,The idea that willows look best when disturbed,That the chives we can smell from the gardenWill go with the salmon halted only this morningTo shore.