Tadpole

The sun finally seared through the rain clouds, which had been clinging persistently to the underside of the sky like algae on a boat's hull. It lit up the drenched garden and all the dull greens were illuminated like the fire in an emerald. I ventured out and across the slick grass, down to the pond, whose surface was speckled with lime duckweed. As my shadow crossed it, the surface was briskly broken, whipped up by the tails of startled tadpoles fleeing. I approached slowly to look in, and in the sunlight the pond was as clear as bottle green glass. I could see the tadpoles drifting, wriggling lazily amongst weeds and black-shelled snails. This late in the year they were big and swollen, tails strong and wide, yet still showing no signs of metamorphosis. One in particular caught my eye. Bigger than the rest, its tail was fringed with a pale, delicate frill and dotted with dark speckles.

 I'd never seen one like it before. It hung beneath the surface as would a spider from gossamer; entirely still, motionless, save for slight drift. Pushed by some minute, invisible force. My hand moved like the beak of a heron, and I could barely stop it. A stealthy, slow approach followed by a deft snatch and my fingers broke the green glass and snatched a slimy wriggle from its water world. 

I don't know why I did it. Humans always want to possess beauty. It's why we cut flowers to put in vases, although we know they'll die, and why we put songbirds in cages, even though we know it breaks their hearts. The tadpole sat in my palm, stunned and frozen in the bright sunlight, in the sudden air that must have felt so alien, so thin. Its bulbous head was inset with tiny eyes. Equine, almost. Its tail was all the more beautiful in the rare light. Translucent and glossy. I marvelled at what I was holding - a freeze frame from a brief life cycle. A snapshot of a transient state. 

And then I let it fall back into the water like a rain drop.