The Toad

— and suddenly, it was fall. The world greyed as the clouds shrouded the land. The toad knew nothing would ever be as it was again. Though the toad no longer recognized his dear ones or the trees around him, he made his way over to the pond.

“This pond is beautiful," said the toad to nothing or no one in particular. “A wonderful place to rest.”

The toad drank some water and nibbled on a few stray flies. Then, the toad settled in. The toad began to wonder about the pond, then about the setting sun, and soon enough, about the bright moon. The toad loved the cycling, and marveled at the way the it flashed— slowly at first, then rapidly— before his wide eyes. He’d never seen the moon this way.

The toad stood so perfectly still that he caught the eyes of a spider across the pond. She creepily crawled over to him.

“Excuse me, Sir Toad,” the spider said, “I noticed how strong and sturdy you’ve stood here over many nights, and wondered — well, if you’d help a little old spider out. The toad didn’t want to be bothered, or to move, and told the spider so.

“Good. I need you still as stone,” the tired, old spider replied.

The toad thought about it for a moment longer. Then, he settled into the weight of his body and said, “Well then, you may.” He went on to wonder and be. The chill caught his attention, and he drifted off with the wind as it rustled through the branches. The spider bustled about his still-as-stone body.

Before long, the spider’s web stretched between the toad and the thick red tree, just as the frost webbed across the still pond. The spider’s web disappeared into the sky. The pond’s web disappeared into the snowy banks.

The next time the toad noticed the spider, it was enjoying a young snake that ventured too close to the spider’s web. He watched silently as the spider slowly devoured the snake. It was humbling to watch a creature as marvelous as the old spider work.

Why, if it wasn’t for me, the old spider might grow hungry, the toad thought. He felt a surge of pride at helping the spider feed itself. He’d found such a wonderful place to rest.

Before long, though the toad didn’t realize for many days, the spider shriveled up. Stiff. The winds, thick with the heat, came back around and, with a sharp gust, swept the spider’s hollow shell away. The toad felt a serenity and a melancholy. Though he didn’t weep, his heart ached and longed for the spider’s presence at the periphery.

The toad mourned the spider for a long time. So long, in fact, that his body turned to dust before the ache dissipated.

The longing lingered.

As the earth reclaimed his body, the toad told the saprobes all about the spider, and how he’d kept her alive. The grass didn’t bother listening, but the mushroom began to long for her presence. The toad knew they understood.

The mycelium showed the toad all that lay around him. He began to see that the pond was even more wonderful than he’d imagined. It fed the trees and nurtured the plants. The toad couldn’t believe how well he could see the world now —