Down to the black drooped willow leaves. The pool was black. Orange flowers stood in a row, their yellow-striped petals, curving backward. The orange was yellow-striped. Around the orange petals rose narrow leaves.
It had dragon eyes. The blue stick hung bluely. With dragon eyes the stick stared. It didn’t move. I didn’t move. It didn’t move. I didn’t move—then—gone.
I crept behind the drooping leaves, watched now from the drooping leaves. There. Close. A frog. Green with dark spots. The blue swung low, facing me from the side and turned and backed slowly away. The frog sat green and still: an eyelid. Blinked. Slowly. Unblinked. I waited. Holding a bucket I waited: eye black. Gold circled—then
I leapt from the leaves with the bucket big bucket high swinging over and down—heavy down down down in the water deep—
And I had him!
I had him.
[I was four years old when this story occurred. If you gaze into the blackness of the EYE, you can see me leaning over the lily pool.]