I Search The Apple Tree For The Frog

I search for the frog on the apple tree.  Surely a better place to hide than the metal gate.

I circle the tree inspecting the craggy bark, the same texture as the frog’s skin.  I peer high into the branches, the canopy of leaves turning the light green.  I touch the silvery moss, too plush to be a frog. I squat,  my knees jutting out on either side of me (like a frog), and poke my head into the yoni hole in the tree’s trunk, a cave of rotting stalactites and stalagmites.

I see the frog again and again, but it is nowhere to be found.

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Full Moon Fiber Art