There it sat, its big, abysmal eyes taunting me and my curiosity. I lunged for it, but missed, falling into the murky water and soiling my new shorts. My mother wasn't going to be happy, and I had nothing to show for it. It got away. Evaporating into the morning fog, leaving not but a ripple in the water. And such was the beginning of my obsession.
“Bwuhm, bwuhm, bwuhm.” That is the sound that billowed through the humid air on every hot, New York, summer night. A sound so powerful and enticing that I would often find myself in a trance, lying atop my firm mattress; it haunted me. This mysterious sound. I so often wanted more than anything to cease, and more than often, to continue. I would even find myself dreaming of this rhythm. What could create such powerful acoustics? Many times I would find myself staring at the ceiling of my room, my bare body revealed over the sheets as the heat continually tortured me. I would imagine the pond that laid stagnant in the yard of my childhood home, singing this strong, bass tone to me. Was this even real? I would ask myself. But I always knew the answer to that.
I used to walk out in the early morning, just as the summer heat truly began to seep into the humid air. A mosquito latched onto my leg as I approached the pond. As I swatted it away, I spotted what was truly the mystery and marvel of my childhood. It was not a ghost, not a wraith, but merely something much more worldly. A bullfrog. Its muscular core was about the size of two clenched human fists. I remember vividly this creature’s huge, round eyes perched on the sides of its head like small cameras, watching me. The passion that I held for this creature was rooted in sheer fascination and determination. It had been my childhood dream, ever since I was five or six years old, to capture and hold this creature's energy in my hands.
Naturally, as time passed and I grew older, I became more comfortable with the grotesque smells of the pond and the relentless swarms of mosquitoes that patrolled its perimeter. I found myself submerging my own body. Step by step, I would enter into the warm, muddy water. My eyes fixed on one thing, the bullfrog. I remember foolishly swiping at it, like a bear cub learning to fish for salmon. Determined, but flawed. I would only find myself covered in a terrible stink and a think mud. However, I wanted to succeed.
I always used to watch the Blue Heron that frequently fished for the bullfrogs at our pond. A beautiful creature. It was always successful in its hunt, stalking the bullfrogs with slow, subtle movements. The key to its success laid in patience and unwavering focus. Once it was in the right position, it unleashed an explosive twitch of muscle that propelled its neck like an arrow from a bow. I studied the heron's ways.
I remember the day very clearly. I stood not three feet from a massive male bullfrog, a blue bandana rolled up and tied around my head and my arm arched and pointed like the neck of my teacher. I took a deep breath and thrust my hand at the bullfrogs waist. It took me a moment to realize, but when I did, I jumped with glee. I had become the Blue Heron. I had captured the bullfrog.
It was my determination and will not to give up on my goal that led me to success. I ran up the double hill that lead to my house, the grass sliding under my feet and sprinted into the house to show my mother. She wasn’t very thrilled about the floors.
No comments:
Post a Comment