The relationship between the sun, moon and frog is an odd one. By day, the croaking frog sits, bathing in a pool of sun rays and collected dew drops. His green, slippery skin reflects memories like old-fashioned picture shows as his scrapes and scars tell stories.
He is wise and collected. The frog exists in the moment, satisfied, but yearning for the moon to rise like a glowing balloon out of the pink and orange horizon. The swan tells him stories and they chat about people and enlightenment.
By night, the frog sings about the grass and the trees. He sings of famous frogs and of revolutions. But most of all, he sings of day, and how he waits anxiously for the sun to grow out of the earth and arise, smiling and greeting him.
