Faded Houses Green

Reading Ulysses in Montana #215

Frogs in a parlor of furious trifles forgot the meaning of the word of the day, but they endeavored to improve themselves nonetheless.

Lester had no other qualms about going it alone than that his other three were still dissatisfied. Remarkable as it was, you can imagine what happened next. As far as Lester was concerned, a fortnight of four score dreams in the forecastle of frivolous delights was long enough to draw the forlorn conclusion that the shortest route to your destination is through the teeth of the storm, and the stronger the storm, the shorter the route. Paths of glory, paths of graves, paths of madding crowds trampling the road least taken until the yellow wood is a parking lot full of yellow taxis.

The crack of the main mast woke Lester from his despondent reveries of frogs and trifles, and he opened himself to the enthusiasm of love once more.