Frog Catching

Frog “Catching”

On this particular day in July, the “in” spot appeared to be the pond past the weeping willows. The sun’s blazing rays streaked through the tree segments, capturing my pale skin in an infinite clay oven. I prepared my hands, slippery as a goldfish’s glossy scales, and vanished past the lofty grass as mute as a squeak-less mouse. Disappearing amongst the billowing vines, I camouflaged my vivid features against the dull, brownish-green. My gaze fixated on a lily pad marked “the throne of his majesty,” There, was seated a humble king, his army green features lying low to his majestic throne. However, the landmark approached the pond’s interim, creating a difficult reach from across the mossy bank. Turning my pivot joint, I avoided locking eyes. I felt the sudden urge to lunge at the four-legged royalty, but resisted, knowing this would achieve me no favor. Bursting with hesitation, I emerged from my hideout, cautious as an alert prairie dog. I hesitantly edged