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there are many deserts with ponds. you could be standing in the middle of one and not know it, because the ponds are usually dry. nor would you know that inches below your feet, frogs are sleeping, the heart beats done to once or twice per minute. they lie dormant and waiting, these mud frogs, for with out there water there lives are incomplete, they are not fully themselves, for many months they sleep like this within the earth. and then the rain comes, and a hundred pairs of eyes pop out of the mud, and at night hundreds of voices call acrossthe moonlit water. it was wonderful to see, wonderful to be in the middle of. we mud frogs awakening all around. we were awash in tini intentions. small gestures, words, empathies, thought to be extinct came to life. for years the strangers amoug us had passed sunlleny, in the hallways, we nodded, we smiled. if someone got an A, others celebrated, too. if someone spraind an ankle, others felt the pain. we discoverd the colour of peoples eyes. it was rebellion we led, a rebellion for rather then against. for ourselves. for the dormant mud frongs we have been for so long.