4/28/03 Aided by the analogue wave of trilling bullfrogs and the democratic participation of all peepers, I tamp the stones into the clay dust at the perimeter of our man made body of water. 9:15pm, I could continue by feel and sound, but I choose to sit and listen. The fingers feel good, laden with the chalk of a mason's yoke. I jested with Giuseppe today: "yesterday, I made money with my hands, today, I use only my fingers". Someday, I will use only my mind; I will save my hands and fingers for a process in love, only. The night is a cool spring of mind, no more than a flannel shirt is needed. The stars are bright for southern New England and the swamp is a symphony of rolling reeds and twisting tongues. -- To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to: <http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>