The Pink Frog

or the Notion of Colour
 
He was so happy inside himself.    He lived in a huge pond at the end of the garden surrounded by all that mother nature could possibly give.   When he was born the sky was pale blue and those fluffy white scrunchy things floated across it in their own languid, slow, aimless way.  Everything that wasn’t green (and pretty much everything was green around him), was either blue, white, purple (those irises) or yellow (those sunflowers).  How could a body not be gloriously happy!
 
Pink Frog and the other froginis (in Ireland, putting –ini onto the end of a word denotes the small or young version of the noun), dived and splashed around in the pond all day under the watchful eye of their mothers (of course, this is the way of nature).   Some of them were naughty and disobeyed their elders, some were daring – swimming beyond the large black rocks which formed a natural boundary between frog and goldfish territories (although they lived as neighbours in peaceful harmony, both groups were conscious of their inherent differences within the pond habitat). 
 
As he grew older, his friends became distant and excluded him from their forays and outings. He began to feel detached and lonely.   He knew he was different – after all he was pink and they were browny greeny.   But he was slimy as they were and when he spoke, he knew his accent was croaky (frogs call their accent either karaokey or croaky) and he was definitely croaky.  He asked his mother why they ignored him and acted in an unfriendly way towards him.   But he knew his mother would turn to him and her eyes would light up with love and affection for him and that she wouldn’t even understand his question.  She would hug him and tickle his toes to make him laugh and start singing him one of his favourite songs to cheer him up.  His mother could be so irritating at times!!  His father was mostly absent – his mother said he had important work to do elsewhere – so the frog  had no one else to turn to.
 
At the end of the summer of his birth, a small skirmish broke out in the pond.  The goldfish called a meeting with the frogs.    The goldfish mayor wanted to name the pond as he felt it gave it an air of importance to have an official name.   The goldfish wanted it called ‘The Ponderosa’ and the mayor puffed out his chest, crossed his fins and said in a loud lippy voice ‘yes we want this pond called ‘The Ponderosa’.     
 
However the frogmayor decided that this was not a befitting name for the pond, and after she called a general meeting, the frog population decided they wanted the pond called LilyPadPond and the lady mayor proclaimed this loudly to the goldfish (in her croaky fashion).    
 
The goldfish marched up and down the length of the pond chanting Ponderosa and to counter this, the frogs chanted Lily Pad, Lily Pad.   It was really quite amusing.   But maybe not so amusing when the goldfish stole one of the precious lotus flowers from the frogs’ temple.  Then things started getting serious.    To retaliate (why is there always retaliation?), the frogs started calling the goldfish Orange Amadans (from the irish meaning fool - pronounced omadawn)
 
Well this was not good.     A community that had formerly lived side by side in respectful distance, but peacefully, locked in a bitter conflict over the name of the pond.    Isn’t that ridiculous, thought the Pink Frog.    But no one could come up with a solution or even a pathway to peace.  And things got worse by the day.    There were rumours (not confirmed, mind you) that the 2 mayors were seen spitting at one another.    Oh shock horror.   Spitting is not allowed and always deemed inappropriate and undignified.
 
When Pink Frog woke up one morning, he had an idea.    He went to the mayor and discussed his idea with her and after some reflection, she decided his idea might work.    She called a meeting with the goldfish and that evening the 2 communities sat down together in the great hall – each feeling a sense of righteous indignation (one of my father’s favourite expressions).
 
Pink Frog stood up to the podium.       Hello everyone, he said, somewhat stuttery.    I want us to go back to the way it was here in our beautiful pond.   I personally don’t care what it’s called as long as it remains beautiful,  surrounded by all that mother nature has given us for free.    I know you all feel the same but for some reason, it seems to be important to have an official name.   Some of us want the Ponderosa, some of us want The LilyPadPond.  
 
I would like to suggest we call it ‘Rosa Lily Pond’.     Meaning ‘pink lily pond’.   Not only is it the joining together of the two names, it is also a true description of our pond.  (the pink lily pad flowers were particularly vivid that year).
 
After a moment’s silence, when they all considered this option, the frogs leapt, the goldfish blew bubbles and they all danced around in that way we all feel when the argument is over, and peace resumes, when all sides are respected, when the burden of anger is lifted.
 
Pink Frog’s name went into the annals of pond history worldwide, as a true peacekeeper.    As a namegiver (he often gave advice on naming other ponds and was even contacted to mediate in the naming of a Japanese garden – but that’s another story).   His colour was no longer an issue with his friends – in fact, they came to seek out his company – after all, it’s so good to be in the company of one who keeps the peace.   No one will argue with that.




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Short story for entry into competition when I polish it up a bit.  I was prompted by recent Blip FB entry to match a story to your photo.  Here is that link...

https://www.facebook.com/170905673949/posts/10157806483133950?sfns=mo

I uploaded this yesterday and tried to edit a spelling and instead deleted the whole blip. tsk

Short story competition details if you want to give it a go.  Link here
  
https://www.rte.ie/radio1/francis-macmanus-short-story/