Frog in Me

I saw a dead frog the other day.  Smashed flat on the road.  My heart heaved and the tears I had been holding back all morning came rushing.  I have loved frogs since I was a child.  Well, really, what child doesn’t?  But I was a city kid, so I never saw a real frog let alone chased one or caught one or held one until I was in my 40’s and living in the country.  And the other day I saw one dead in the middle of the road.  Probably smashed by someone’s impatience, or disregard, or lack of awareness.

Have you ever seen the tree roots of a city tree pushing up the pavement, cracking it wide open, triumphantly declaring its tree-ness to all the world?  Laugh out loud and cheer, that’s what I do when I see those masterful beings break free and live their original instructions.

As a kid, I fueled my frog passion with green bumpy mittens and a green bumpy hat and a green  winter coat one year.  And frog figurines of every size, shape and shade of green lined my shelves for years after that.  I experienced nature in that winter garb, leaping, jumping, hiding, playing with all of my citified frog figurine friends in my fantasy worlds.

The other day, I walked.  My feet creating some sort of rhythmic chant to soothe my aching heart — smashed by someone’s impatience, disregard, lack of awareness.  The longer I walked, the slower my pace, and the more I began to see and smell and feel the healing elixir that is the natural world.  I did not expect to find that dead frog lying there on the pavement.  I picked it up, because the middle of the road is no place for one’s true Nature.




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