Birds-eye

Birds-eye, pt 8

She seemed different, however. Not like the others. I thought she at least had some sense of where she was and why. See, I first met her down near Quackajack Pond and that's a place not known to many animals, let alone humans. It's an outpost the river left behind, right some many hatchings ago. Of course, the trees and plants, who are like humans in ways but with more interest in their surroundings, were eager to cover it. The plants done growed, covering up all the ways toward the Pond, so that it is right hard to reach, 'cept when you have tiny pitter-patter feet. ..or wings. And the trees done growed, blocking out the light of the sun but not its heat, so that the Pond is as hot and soggy a place as you're like to encounter. Its water is dark and troubled. If it wasn't for the frogs, none of us'd ever know what went on below there. But you can leave it to the frogs to dive to murky depths for food or whatever else it is that's beckoning them down there. And when frogs find food... so do I. It ain't easy. You hear the frogs a-quacking plenty, but you're as like to see one of them as to catch them. Still, I find it's worth my while ever so often. Even if I don't get lucky frogwise, I can still dig in on what they're having.

Humans hardly ever go there. The one and only humans I ever saw up there was her and that high-falutin' fella of hers. Made right some ruckus when they managed to reach the pond. He had to drive that monsterlike car of his right through the weeds and the plants, before she'd step out.

Previous parts:
Birds-eye, part 1
Birds-eye, part 2
Birds-eye, part 3
Birds-eye, part 4
Birds-eye, part 5
Birds-eye, part 6
Birds-eye, part 7