Our thoughts are squat frogs sploshing around in the foggy marsh of our minds. A croak here, a croak there, then they disappear into murkiness plopping up later, random and undetermined to splosh and croak some more.

Oh! that they were leaping salmon heading up through swirls and rocky torrents, progressing against currents and foam; the fish and river sparkling in the sun. Achieving at last ...

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