One day a frog discovered she could grow flowers from her mouth. It was an ability as unnerving as it was unexpected. She had wanted to catch a passing insect, but instead of her tongue a delicate green shoot unfurled from her mouth. Almost instantly, the shoot grew into a wide conical stem from which a curling mass of fronds emerged studded with buds of yellow, violet, and pink.

Seemingly transfixed by the strange development, the frog stared at the plant. She did not know where it had come from. Or what it meant. She wasn’t even sure it was real. But then the flowers began to bloom and she was delighted by the spectacle, which she thought extraordinarily beautiful.

Shortly afterwards, insects began to arrive, attracted by the vivid blooms, and it was then the frog understood the purpose of her creation. It was a lure. The flowers would bring dinner to her doorstop, an abundance of tasty insects all within her reach. She wouldn’t have to move.

Her tongue twitched with the pangs of appetite.

Unfortunately, it was to her tongue the stem was tethered. Thus, as she flexed her tongue to collect the first juicy morsel, the stem was forced from her mouth and the plant—fronds, flowers and all—rose into the air and floated out of her reach. And with the flowers, of course, went the host of insects.

© Richard Parkin, 2023