The tadpole was moving again.
It did not decide to move,
nor did it remember why it had started.
It simply felt the pull.
A restless, invisible thread unraveling inside its chest.
It darted left, then right, then somewhere in between,
chasing the thought of a thing it had already forgotten.
From the twisted roots of an ancient tree,
the snake watched.
Its body was coiled into careful loops,
head motionless, tongue tasting the air.
“You never stop,” the snake said.
“You flail in every direction and call it progress.”
The tadpole twitched. “I move,” it said.
“You thrash,” the snake hissed back.
The tadpole wanted to argue,
but the words tangled,
slippery and fast, impossible to hold.
It dove to the bottom of the lake,
to the only quiet place it knew.
But even here, thoughts flickered like silver fish.
Why can’t I focus, or finish anything I start?
Why does it all make sense until I try to explain?
Up in the tree, the snake remained still.
“I wait before I move,” it said. “That is why I strike true.”
The tadpole wished to be like that!
Disciplined, and deliberate,
a creature that knew exactly when to act
instead of moving simply because it could.
It tried so hard, too.
Sometimes, it tried to be still. Often, it tried to be certain.
Most of all, it tried to be something other than what it was.
But the tadpole’s own mind was a rip current,
and every time it reached for clarity,
the tadpole was pulled somewhere else.
Then one day, something changed.
The restless thrashing slowed.
The blur of movement became steady and strong.
Its legs ached as they formed,
its body reshaping itself in ways it could not yet understand.
The sun now glimpsed upon an amphibian and a serpent.
This amphibian climbed from the water.
The snake was patiently waiting.
It had not expected a tadpole to make it this far.
“I was wrong about you,” the snake admitted.
“You never needed stillness.
You only needed a form
that could carry your chaos with purpose.”
The frog blinked, feeling the earth beneath its feet
for the very first time.
And it laughed and laughed and laughed.
The laugh was deeper than the lake,
stronger than the tree, warmer than the sun.
The snake flicked its tongue in agreement.
For the first time, they understood each other.
Some are born waiting.
Some are born moving.
Both are meant to arrive.