Green State of Mind

“Green is really a state of mind you see…” said the little frog as he hopped here and there and then here again.

“Seriously Whimsy, you are quite intolerable sometimes,” said the toad trying to ignore the hyper, hopping, bouncing frog.

“No, no, no, I’m happy,” Whimsy said to the left.

“I’m excited,” he said to the right.

“I’m green you see,” and he vanished from view.

Toad was cautious not to appear too concerned; nevertheless, he was a little alarmed by Whimsy’s sudden disappearance. He looked left, no Whimsy… He looked right, no Whimsy… He looked back, then front, then back again, but still no Whimsy.

“I’ve got suckers!” The excited voice came from above.

Toad looked up to see Whimsy above his head hanging with his toes wrapped around a limb, and just in time for the little frog to let go landing squarely on Toad’s head.

“Will you please get off me,” demanded Toad, looking up at Whimsy through the little frogs suckered toes.

“I can be a little gray sometimes too,” Whimsy teased his grumpy friend. “Sometimes I’m even a little tan, but today I’m GREEN! Com’on Bufomede, cover those warts in GREEN!”

Just then Bufomede lurched at a passing fly catching the unsuspecting insect on his tongue and sending Whimsy tumbling back onto his head.

“I’m a toad,” Bufo said matter-of-factly swallowing the fly, “I like gray and warts you slimy li’l hylid.”

Whimsy was feet over head. He blinked twice in astonishment. “THAT – WAS – AWESOME!”

“You are too easily amused my li’l green friend.”

“Thanks!” said Whimsy still on his head and unaware it wasn’t a complement.

“While you right yourself, I will take my leave. Good evening Whimsy.”

Balanced on his chin, suckered hind feet dangling over his slick green head, Whimsy watched his more subdued friend Bufomede hop off into the darkening forest floor when a curious glow sped arrow straight in his direction.

“Ooh, a firefly…” Whimsy quickly righted himself.

“Light up my belly!” – THWOOPP! His tongue cracked the early evening air and reeled in the passing glow.

“I am NOT a firefly. Will you kindly spit me out?”

Whimsy wheeled around behind him expecting to see a practical joker in the weeds. There was no one.

“In here…”

Whimsy spun back around and still there was no one.

“Your BELLY…” said the voice with noticeable sarcasm.

Whimsy did his best to tilt his head and look at his abdomen.

“I would appreciate it if you would promptly release me.”

BLAH! Whimsy spat out his offended snack then cowered behind a stalk of grass.

“Well… wh – wh – what are you?”

“I, little Whimsy, am a Muse… and somewhat baffled that you are able to see me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be able to see you? I thought you were a firefly.”

“I’m well aware of that after my brief tour of your gastrointestinal region.”

“My what?”

“Oh never mind… I’m a Muse. I inspire God’s people, those who desire it anyway. My work is subtle and discrete though I must be losing my touch as you are able to see me.”

“So, you are like an angel?” Whimsy asked with excitement.

“Well, not exactly, I suppose there are similarities,” said Muse. “Where the will of man desires God’s gift of creativity, we inspire. You are quite the inquisitive little creature, aren’t you? Rather informed for an amphibian.”

“I hear a lot of things from up in my trees,” Whimsy agreed. “See, I got suckers!”

“Yes, I see that… Wait a minute!” Muse seemed to have an epiphany. “Of course! It’s brilliant! That’s why you can see me. You are supposed to help me. I have a job for you my little sucker-toed friend.”

“Oh, but I’m not a toad. I’m a frog.”

Muse paused briefly to consider how he confused his new friend, “Oh never mind, we have little time to waist. The Ranger is coming and this may be our only chance.”

“So is it very important, this job,” Whimsy asked with excitement.

“Oh yes, for one little creature it is the most important I fear.”

“Oh,” Whimsy showed concern.

“You see, two days ago just down that road there,” Muse darted in the direction of the forest road then back to his original position, “the Ranger’s mare had a stillborn colt.”

“Oh no! That’s so sad,” Whimsy frowned. “What’s a mare?”

“It’s a lady horse…”

Whimsy did not seem any wiser, but actually more confused.

“Never mind I’ll tell you later,” Muse said desperate to continue. “And this morning poachers shot and killed the mother of that poor hungry little fawn just yonder in a pile of leaves.”

“A fawn?” Whimsy searched but couldn’t see until he hopped, grabbed a blade of grass then flung himself up and onto a low hanging branch from a nearby bush. “Oh no! A little baby! I didn’t see her there. She’ll starve without her mama. We need to help her.”

“Exactly, my little green friend, young fawns are speckled and spotted that way to make them very difficult to see. It is a form of defense, but sadly her defense may be her doom, for the Ranger will surely not see her either, unless we can stop him, and I can inspire him to look. With a little luck, and of course a little inspiration, the Ranger will take the fawn home and the mare searching for her lost colt might adopt this poor creature.”

“What can I do?” Whimsy was desperate to help.

“A little Whimsy will be just what we need,” Muse said encouragingly as to himself. “Can you scurry up that tree there, the one has branches reaching out over the road?”

“Well of course I can,” said Whimsy. “I have…”

“Yes! I know. You have suckers. Ok, quickly! We haven’t much time. I hear the Ranger coming.”

With acrobatics like no other creature in the forest, Whimsy hopped, swung, flung and flew himself up the mentioned tree then quickly out on the branch over the road just as Muse had directed.

“That’s it Whimsy,” Muse shouted. “Now prepare yourself. I want you to hang from where you are and drop when I tell you.”

“DROP?” Whimsy questioned.

“Yes, DROP!”

“Now?”

“No, not now! When I tell you to! Drop when I tell you to! To get the Ranger’s attention.”

“Ok, I’m ready.” Whimsy said holding on to the small branch with three legs and letting the other dangle prepared to let go at Muse command.

“That’s perfect. Now wait for my signal… Yes, that’s just perfect my little frog on a limb.”

Ranger Horace had a hard day, an unproductive day, a frustrating, dusty and tiresome day and now all he wanted to do was get home to a hot meal. He hadn’t eaten since before sunrise, flying out the door without even a thermos of coffee, reacting to the sound of gunshots echoing down the valley. It was tough times and mountain folk did what they could to get by, even poaching the last of Tennessee’s deer population to provide meat for their family. Ranger Horace could hardly blame them with the price of meat being more than most families in the region could afford, but he had to uphold the laws for the mountains’ sake, for the park’s sake, for the sake of future generations.

He spurred on his 1935 Ford over the rutted forest road, his growling stomach threatening to drown out the rumble and rattles of the Park Service pickup. It was hardly a reasonable method to chase down poachers who were more than likely on foot and staying far from passable roadways, but the Ranger’s young mare was still very weak from her recent troubled birth of a large colt that unfortunately did not make it. Ranger Horace would get some much-needed food and rest tonight then investigate the potential poachers tomorrow. They surely wouldn’t be far from the park’s borders, but they likely wouldn’t be boasting a deer carcass for all to see either.

He rounded the last switchback before getting home when a spot of green caught his eye. A tiny tree frog was suckered to the windshield staring at the Ranger with the intent to hang on and force him to stop. Ranger Horace slammed on the brakes, but the little frog did not budge.

“Well, look at you little guy.” Ranger Horace was out of his truck scooping the little tree frog into the palm of his hand.

“No free rides friend,” he said turning and bending to put the frog down in the vegetation at the side of the road. “Off with you now and back to your tree.”

Before he turned back to his truck, the Ranger felt a tingle in his left eye and the hair on the back of his neck stood up like his senses were trying to tell him something. The day was waning fast, but in the fading light he could just make out a mound of something a short distance into the forest.

“What in the world is…” Ranger Horace said to himself slowly stepping off into the forest in the direction of the camouflaged object. “Well, I’ll be. What are you doing here little fella?”

The tiny little fawn instinctively lay motionless, its only defense against this strange approaching creature. With the deer population so close to gone, and poachers in the area, Ranger Horace knew the fawn’s mother was probably dead and the fawn’s chances for survival were slim. The Ranger took off his Park Service jacket and wrapped it around the unprotesting creature. The fawn did not struggle and did not make a sound as the Ranger picked up the baby dear and cradled it in his arms. It was either too weak or too afraid to move.

Ranger Horace gently placed the scared little fawn, wrapped in his jacket, on the front seat of his pickup and slid behind the wheel. The fawn only slightly raised her head when the Ranger turned the key and the pickup engine rumbled to life.

“Where is that little frog?” Muse frantically searched for his green friend as the Ranger started up the truck. “He’s going to miss the ride. Whimsy! Where are you? Whimsy!”

Muse darted in all directions: up, down, and all around the pickup looking for the clever amphibian. Black smoke belched from the tailpipe and the vehicle began to move.

“Oh dear,” Muse was preparing to leave his new friend without a good-bye.

THWOOPP! The sound snapped over the rumble of the pickup and Muse felt himself snared and flung against his will.

“Gotchya,” Whimsy said.

“You were gonna miss the ride,” he said before spitting Muse out on to the back bumper where he was currently suckered.

“I don’t need the ride,” Muse protested to again being eaten by his new friend. “I was looking for… Oh never mind. Good to see you made it friend.”

“We did it! Didn’t we? We saved the little fawn. We make a good team.”

“Yes, we make a good team little Whimsy, but there is still much to be done. Our poor fawn is not out of the woods just yet.”

“Of course she is,” Whimsy insisted. “She’s with the Ranger man now, in his machine, remember?”

“No, no, I mean figuratively,” Muse tried to explain. “Oh, never mind. I mean the fawn is still in danger. She is very weak and needs to be cared for.”

“But you said Ranger man’s mare would take care of her.”

“That is what we will try to make happen,” Muse said reassuringly. “Be patient my friend. Let us see what we can do.”

Whimsy and his supernatural friend Muse rode away into the night toward the second leg of their mission in the glow of taillights, undetected on the bumper of the Ranger’s truck.