Sandbox Surprise

 Frog Tales Marathon 

When does hibernation start, because I am 100% participating in that. - Anonymous

Pleasant day.

The morning sun was throwing specks of light on the huge, backyard lawn. I had never seen the place look so peaceful. There were scattered ripples of mud and puddles, but the air was fresh after the previous night's rain.

The Girls, three and five years old at the time, were already up, headed outside to the sandbox. It was time for play. Building forts and castles.

Rectangles of light were cast on the sandy mounds which the Girls had started to sculpt when...

... Ribbit!  

The sound from a frog wakened from its deep slumber resounded.

Second Daughter was bubbling enthusiastically, her eyes wide, while First Daughter yelled with an undercurrent of excitement in her voice.

Mom! Look!

It must have been a terrestrial American toad that had burrowed deep into the sand. A tree frog, perhaps, hibernating. Although winters in the southwest were mild, temperatures at night may drop near or below freezing.

Its huge, globular eyes protruding from the top of its head were eyeing them, seemingly saying, Wanna play?

The Girls were bubbling in awe and amazement. They were smitten.

Come on in, I admonished them cheerfully. Breakfast time. Let's leave it alone for now.

They were pleading, But can we play with him later?

Nibbling the insides of their chicken pot pie, they chattered about building a frog house. Can we make him a small swimming pool? What shall we call it? Is it a boy or a girl?

All I could think about was 100% participation in the poetry of hibernation and the comfort of reclusion.

But The Girls were seeing something else in a most ordinary wart-bodied amphibian. 

Magic.

Mystery.

They were living the best part of a journey, experiencing surprise and wonder along the way.