Cherokee Narrative

Fronds of grass waved in the gentle summer breeze as a bright orange frisbee was bounced between the hands of a small group of third graders. The day started careless and carefree, running through the grass just for kicks. We were agendaless and excited to see where the day would take us. Cattails bent over slightly when the wind whistled past, and the large oak tree towered above our meaningless frolicking. The day was beautifully unstructured until the frisbee landed near the far edge of the wetlands, and in retrieving it, Cole froze. His eyes widened as he stared at the grass a couple meters from his feet. Painfully slowly, he edged away from the reeds slowly gaining speed until he was running at breakneck pace back towards us. “Leopard frog!” The hoarse shout rang across the backyard. An eerie silence fell over the lawn as my eyes frantically darted between my friends, broken only by the frantic sound of feet slamming into the ground. The frisbee was instantly forgotten as the gravity of the moment weighed on our minds. Who would grab the towel? Who would block the exit paths? At this point, there was no room for error. Each move had to be precisely calculated for victory. With the ability to jump 7 feet in any direction

I was there. I was ready. The frog sat peacefully in the spring grass, oblivious to our trap. He was awe-inspiring; his legs looked like they could break a board with one kick, and his body was streamlined for expert navigation in cold muddy waters. His silhouette was dignified, and he held his held high to survey his murky, wet homeland. This frog was the king of all frogs, and in my entire life, I had only seen three. I couldn’t let this opportunity pass. I glanced over at Cole; he nodded at me, and I stood up tall on my shaky feet. With a deep breath that filled my chest to the bursting point, I flung the blanket into the reaches of the sky above