The Three Night Visitors of Early September
He sat there among the rocks perfectly still. And as I type this I wonder if he had ever
been spoken to before by my kind. Had
his mother told him, in her own way, that people from my world should not be
communicated with, and that he should ignore me? Had his father said that my people were a
danger to him – and that his very life was jeopardized if he even acknowledged
me? Some children might throw rocks, or
women might scream and jump up and down in a silly, non-productive way – and perhaps
accidentally cause him to go to the Great Beyond? Who knows the thoughts of the average toad as
it sits among the stones, in natural camouflage, hoping to go unnoticed as it
waits for bugs or whatever it is that toads do on dark muggy nights when people
should be in their dwellings?
But I looked down at him in unfeigned curiosity, without
fear, and said, “Hey. I see you sitting
there.” He tried to flatten himself a
bit, but was too plump to pull it off. His
belly seemed askew. Frankly it was kind
of like a Plus size woman trying to fit into tight clothing: you may be able to move the bulk and shift
it, but you can’t make it go away by wishing its invisibility. Physics gets you every time.
I observed for a few moments and marveled at his
speckling. Then I dashed into the house
for my ipad to grab a picture of him.
Even by the light of the lamp post, it was impossible to get a picture
of him. It came out the same as a great
picture I heard of entitled: “Black bear
shoveling coal at midnight.” No
toad. You just have to take my word for
it. And I may never see him again.
Just the week before, as I came up on my front step at night,
a frog appeared. He was in an even funnier
predicament than his toad cousin from last night because he did not blend in
ANY way with his surroundings. The
corner of my porch, at a 90 degree angle, provided a goal of sorts for him to commandeer. He managed to use his Super Frog Suction Cup
Feet and stick to the puckered aluminum siding.
And I imagine he was having a field day in the corner grabbing the
little bugs that flock to the light of my kitchen window late at night. They are so minute that if I leave the window
up and the screen down they can pass through the screen to come to the
light. There’s a lesson in their
somewhere. I’ll let you, my reader, work
with it.
I don’t want to bog down in speculation, for there was a
third amphibian to make his appearance. Like
the third of the ghosts to visit Ebenezeer Scrooge, he had the most impact on
my tired psyche. After I saw him, I went
back to bed and laughed until I had tears in my eyes. Well, perhaps I was over-tired. It was 3:30 in the morning and one of the
dogs requested a potty run. I dragged
myself out of bed, through the house, and out the door to the dog pen. There was on the threshold some sort of
debris. At quick glance I thought it was
a piece of dog poo. Then I leaned down a
bit and saw that it was a very small frog.
Thus for the reasons of both his appearance, and my reason for being out
with the dogs, I nicknamed this new species The Crap Frog.
My sense of humor is not typical; I am guilty as
charged. But I will say this, he made me
think. How many times are we just about
our own business and people who don’t know us judge us or our purposes. They judge us by what they see, and what
their interpretation of that is. We
disappear off their stage and they never got to learn that we were the best
singer in the swamp – or whatever it is that frogs put on their Amphibian
resumes. My three night visitors came to
teach me, perhaps, to pay attention to the humble ones among us. They may not speak the way we ask them to,
but they have their own purpose and mission…. Should we choose to accept it.
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