Rain drums on the leaves. Eggs tremble in shallow pools— a tadpole stirs life. He sheds tail and fear, finds his legs beneath the sun— first leap into dusk. Buzzing draws him close. One snap and the fly is gone— hunger makes him bold. Crane's shadow above. Still as stone beneath the reed, he croaks not a word. In the hush of night, he dreams of a golden pond— somewhere past the trees. Through bramble and mud, guided by firefly light— he seeks the unknown. River wide and fast. He leaps and the stars watch him— will, not wings, holds him. Moonlit lotus bloom, the pond of dreams, warm and deep— a throne waits in mist. He croaks once. Then twice. Echoes carry through the dark— all the frogs awaken. They still speak his name, frog who leapt beyond the edge— ripple without end.
0/500