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January 22nd 2011    Tim Candler

    I am quite certain everyone has heard of the Prophet Hen of Leeds.  The Taos hum.  And the Sordid Vulture of Appomattox.  Our very own Wooden Frog pales, but nonetheless offers a contribution to the short days.

     He is out there enjoying the season.  Mostly looks cheerful.  Then sometimes when I visit him he asks me to give further consideration to that idea we once had. 

     I tell him he is fortunate.  I tell him that one place is very like another.  And I tell him these things because moving him might steal away his soul.

    Then at night, especially when the moon is full, I can picture him nervous out there by himself, and I understand the harm it would do if I brushed him up, brought him inside, hung him on a wall. 

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