It’s Leap Day, that strange day made up of all the left
behind bits of days, left out fragments of the four years leading up to the
great day itself. Just once every four years, 1,460 days of minutes already
passed all packed together to form an extra day. It’s a day for hares, frogs, Christmas
Lords, marriage hungry women and those wicked faerie folk.
Legend has it that if a pregnant woman steps on a frog on
leap day and kills it and then has her baby, the baby will be stolen away by
fairies and replaced with a changeling with the body of a man but the heart of
a frog. Now I don’t know if that is the case, but I can almost believe it. The
day has a very strange feel. That out of time feeling where nothing you do really matters - a dead day, a cousin to Twixtmas.
I’m not a big fan of this pretender of a day. I can’t help
feeling that it’s an illusion, which of course it is. All time is an illusion
and it’s only our silly need to measure it that brought about Leap Day in the first
place.
Watch out for frogs.
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