East Durham, May Something-th, 2020
I promised her frogs. ”If you’re very quiet we might see frogs.” I’ve been promising this for weeks. Clearly having forgotten the precise timing of the life cycle of frogs, a life cycle that was so thoroughly imparted to me at St. Jospeh’s National School circa 1982. I have memories of tadpoles, then tadpoles with legs, then frogs with tails, then frogs without tails. All in Tupperware at the back of the classroom. I could be wrong.I drank a lot of milk in the 80’s. Some of it’s a blur.
The metamorphosis from egg to fish-like tadpole, to amphibian that can live on water or land, that’s a helpful concept. I’ll take that above the words of any prince. We are all going to need to adapt to our new environment. The life cycle of a frog seemed so slow when I was five. Seems monumentally fast now that I am thirty seven. Thirty seven plus five, that is. Time has never been stranger than now though, don’t you think? March seemed to last about a year and April about a week.
I promised her frogs. I’ve been promising Saoirse frogs for weeks, I’ve been saying, “If we’re very quiet we MIGHT see frogs,” and “Did you see it, did you see it?!” The first frog of the season. “No, no, noaaaah” (She’s pure Cork when it comes to saying “No”.) “Look, look, there, under the rock.” The obliging, camouflaged wonder of land and water stuck his head above the surface. My daughter’s jaw dropped, her face lit up, she couldn’t have been happier or more surprised if she had seen a dancing dinosaur big blue truck made of cheese. Then he was gone, from tadpole, to frog, to ripples in a leafy forest pool.
I hope you and yours are safe and well. If you’ve found any small moments of comfort, joy or inspiration in your day, I’d love to hear your story.
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