Green Frog in a White Rose October 15, 2012

I was trained by my father to anticipate all kinds of road hazards, but one I had not considered was the sudden appearance of a green tree frog hitching a ride on the inside of my car’s front left window.  Annie and I were returning from Pi on a Sunday afternoon a while back and, while on 101 South, had just managed to release a spider that had her all fetutzed.  Within a matter of minutes, I noticed that Annie was again staring my way, this time eerily calm.  “Mom,” she said slowly so as not to freak me out, “There is a frog on your window.”  Having at your left shoulder a frog, however small, which could at any moment leap into your cleavage, say, was not the thing you want to have happen at 65 miles per hour.  So, as we pulled into the right lane, hoping for an exit to appear, the little frog clung to the inside of the window, climbing up it at a gravity-defying angle until friction lost to Newton and he tumbled down to land on the door-handle, from which he re-initiated his ascent.  The good news was that the little frog, and we, survived the ordeal; we deposited him in a leafy area in the wilds of Corta Madera and we were once again on our way.

I was reminded of this small adventure today as I was harvesting the week’s new blossoms from my prolific white rose bush.  Jeannette claims that it is so healthy because of her excellent pruning, and who am I to doubt it?  Clip-clip-clip, but what is this?  A little green tree frog, resting deep inside on pillows of petals.  Was he hoping that I would cut his flower so that he could come home with me?  We stared at each other for a long time.  I passed over his branch, leaving him to his soft white bed.