And then, the frog saw the most beautiful thing. The most amazing, intoxicating thing that it had ever seen. A flower, of pink and red and orange that sparkled in the sun. It sang a song so beautiful. It swayed in the sweet breeze and bent its crown low for the small frog. The frog wept and crawled beneath the petals, so grateful. It kissed the stem and breathed the fragrance into its lungs. The frog had never felt so good. He danced around the flower and wrapped his long, tender toes around it.
The small frog did that for a long, long time. The little frog began to fear that if it wandered from the flower, he wouldn't find his way back. Or, that it would be gone and he would never find it again. He missed something, but he couldn't remember what it was. So he stayed and breathed and breathed, and danced and danced.
Soon, the fragrance of the blossom became weaker, the song not as clear. He didn't understand, and he was sad. He realized that he wasn't twirling in glee anymore, but the beautiful flower hadn't changed at all.
The sun and the leaves and the breeze and the insects were still there.
But the little frog chose the flower, and would not look at the other things as he hid in the flower's shade. The small frog didn't realize it, but his little body had become fragile. His green skin not as vibrant. His eyes not as clear.
The little frog had forgotten that the flowers are just part of all of what is beautiful in the yard, and that small frogs need all of the beautiful, not just the flowers.
Fearfully, he hopped to pond, and felt the sun pierce through him. He filled his small frog belly with insects and rolled in the lush, green grass.
It felt good.
And when he looked across the yard, he saw that the flower was still there. He could still hear its song, and smell its petals, and feel its beauty.
And he was glad.