the New Pantagruel

Frog Song

Story and Art by Andy Farkas

ne morning, after breakfast, but before the sky had given up all of its pinks and purples, a young boy found himself down by the river, skipping stones and kicking pine cones, as boys are prone to do, when he came upon a frog. Not an ordinary frog, mind you. This frog had wings; very much like a bird’s wings, with long, smooth, white feathers on top and small, gray feathers underneath. There were also a few small, soft, white feathers gathered beneath his chin like a very small beard.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” thought the boy; “I wonder if I could catch him?” And so the boy inched closer and closer, very slowly towards the strange frog and then, when he thought he was close enough…

“Aha!” he yelled as he leaped forward at the frog. But the frog had been wise to the boy’s intentions and hopped lightly out of reach to the root of a nearby tree.

Come here!” said the boy after a few tries.

Tired and frustrated, he sat down on the nearest rock and watched the frog. As he sat, the cool and damp of the rock snuck through his trousers to his skin.

“Oh no,” he thought “my mother won’t like this one bit. I’ve gotten my trousers all wet.”

This got to be uncomfortable, and as the boy got up to leave, the frog suddenly lifted his wings, and they carried him up to the branch of the tree above.

Then something else happened.

The frog began to sing.

The frog’s song was the most beautiful song the boy had ever heard.
There weren’t any words, just music.

Soon the boy forgot all about the dampness in his trousers and of going home to change them.
Instead, the boy listened,
And listened, and listened, all day long and into the night.

The wind and trees danced to the beautiful song.
The gushing river and soft humming of the night joined in as the frog sang.

And the boy?
He continued to listen, and the song filled his heart with joy.

Soon, the fire-red sun peeked over the horizon and as it did the frog stopped singing.
All was quiet, peaceful.

Now it was the frog who was listening, not with his ears, because he had none, but with his eyes and heart as a parade of colors began their march upward into the morning sky. And then, just as suddenly as he was found, the frog was gone.

He flew off into the sun.

Sadness crept into the boy’s eyes, sorry that the frog had left and sorry he could not thank him for his song. He started following the frog towards the sunrise when another small frog hopped by. This frog was very small (much smaller than the other frog) and had no wings.

“Where are your wings?” the boy asked, but the frog did not answer. He just looked at the boy. Then an idea came to the boy. “I will sing to this little frog as long as he will listen,” thought the boy, “and I will sing the song of the winged frog. At least I will try.”

And so the boy sang as best he could, all day and on through the night.
He sang with the river and the night while the wind danced with the trees.

And the little frog stayed, and sat, and listened to the boy’s song.
A little frog smile wrapped around his face.

Soon, the dawn grew, like a flower in the east, and then the boy heard something he hadn’t before.
The dawn was singing.

It sung straight into his heart. It called out to him. It was like no other song he had ever heard sung. The day before he thought there was nothing more beautiful than the frog’s song, but this was. The boy wondered why he hadn’t heard it before and then he wondered no more.

The boy picked himself up off the ground and flew off into the sunrise, because he had grown wings in the night.