Some things are meant to be found. Case in point. Just last week a young Native American boy was rummaging in his great-grandfather’s attic in Pembroke, North Carolina. It was August and the sweltering temperature had the kept the boy from fondling and foraging in the forest that lined the meadow behind his house. This young man considered himself an American; he was MTV-cultured and he didn’t understand the quiet pride of his elders. He often found them out of date but was at least respectful not to say anything. He was bored and sweating as he got into the attic via a door he had never seen before. He ducked under beams and climbed over piles of junk until he came upon a small brown box. It was laying innocently enough but was illuminated golden by the lined slivers of yellow light that thrust through the old dirty windows. He picked it up and undressed the dust that adorned the box by blowing it about the room and stirring air that had been content and stable for years. His presence was felt and he felt exhilarated as he opened the box. He was hoping for jewels or a map to a buried treasure. Inside was a piece of paper that was like no paper he had ever seen. It had no lines and was brown like his father’s weathered face. There was faint writing on it and he was excited and yet disappointed to find that it was in English. He had hoped it was a foreign language so that he could guess at the written contents of the paper and move onto the next activity but now he figured he would read it. He went down to the kitchen with the box and got some ice water. Sitting on the back porch of his house, the young boy pulled out the paper and with it a black feather that had been hidden underneath the strange paper. Gratefully, the back porch was hidden from the sun’s beating rays. His urge to go out past the meadow beyond his house and into the forest was quelled by the sheer temperature and weight of the day. The boy sweat and it felt cool; he didn’t realize that his parents did whatever they did so that he could sit on the back porch being lazy on summer days like this. He unfolded the paper and began to read.

When the breath of the land was smoother and without hesitation and the creatures lived as they should, and not as they are now forced, there was a crow and a frog. The crow flew over new skies because his food was gone and there were too many crows. He flew and looked down, hungry at the same time a frog, happy in his pond looked up at his old sky. He was not hungry, nor scared of his life. The crow spotted the frog, and the frog felt danger. The nature of the worlds let to one chasing the other. The frog had his safe spot and went there. The crow did not care and shoved his beak deep between the roots of a tree that the frog had declared his spot. Once the frog realized he was safe, he began pleading with the crow confidently.

"You cannot get me, save your energy," said the frog.

"But I am hungry," the crow said single-mindedly.

"But you can’t get me, so just stop. Maybe we can talk," said the frog after a moment.

"What do you mean?" asked the hungry crow. Its eyes still saw the frog as food only.

"Well, the moment has left us in a rare state of affairs."

"What do you mean?" hunger asked.

"How often can a crow and a frog talk? One is always being chased by the other. That is no way to learn." The frog’s calm nature upset the crow. It was not used to frogs talking placidly about inconsequential topics. The crow never talked like that.

"I’m hungry," said the crow; its eyes were not mean but focused.

"Find something else to eat."

"Like what?"

"Well, that’s for you to find out. You must try new things."

"I’m too hungry to try anything. I just want to eat."

"Do you ever think about anything else?" the frog asked. He was curious of a crow’s life but was so far disappointed.

"When I’m not hungry," the crow responded.

"Well, what else do you do?" The frog peaked from the root that kept him safe and looked at the crow. The crow did not see him.

"I fly," the crow thought aloud, unaware he was being watched. "And I look. I am always looking."

"Me too," the frog agreed. "Seeing around is very important."

"And I look for food," the crows continued," and search for mates. I cannot find enough mates," the crow said hungrily.

"Those are not mates," the frog said. "Those are places to put your seed. A mate is something that draws you to stop looking around so much."

"I’m hungry," one of them said.

"Live with it," the frog said, loking at the crow’s blank eyes. He shivered. "Don’t you want to know about me?" the frog asked.

"Like what?"

"Whatever you want. Our rare moment is still happening." The frog’s breath was as quiet as his thought and the opposite was true for the crow.

"What do you eat?" asked the hungry crow. The frog smirked from its impertinence.

"Small fish creatures that live and die by my the tribe in my home. They are here for me and I respect them for that."

"That’s how I feel about you," grumbled the crow. It’s wings felt weak and it would probably need to eat before it could fly again. The crow was relieved he was not responsible for feeding all of the little crows he had helped make. He brought them into his world and he felt his job was done. "Aren’t you hungry?"

"No." The frog was amused by the crow’s one-track mind. "What’s your favorite thing in the world?"

The crow thought for a moment in between thoughts of frogs he had had. "I like right after I’ve eaten and I’m not hungry. I don’t look for food. I feel free from desires," the crow said, slightly changing his tone.

"I know the feeling," the frog said, much to the surprise of the crow.

"You do?"

"I’m free from desires right now. That’s why I’m not afraid of you. I don’t desire death so I stay away from it."

"I’m hungry," the crow said.

"Then eat something," the frog said calmly.

"You won’t let me," complained the crow.

The frog laughed. "Sorry. Say," he said after a moment, "what is it like to be a crow?"

"What is it like to be a frog?" the crow asked bitterly.

"You wouldn’t want to know right now," the frog said cheerily. The frog was used to being a frog and was sued to being chased by hungry birds. This was his first conversation with one, though.

"What’s it like," the crow asked, "to be hunted?"

"It’s like what a female feels when hungry fmale is around," the frog thought aloud, "but the outcome is different." He smiled and his green skin shined with safety.

"I don’t’ blame you," the frog said. "In fact, I admire your steadfast nature."

"I can’t help it," said the crow, fidgeting in his hungriness.

"I know."

"Once," said the black crow, "I was hungry and a frog tried to talk his way from my mouth." The crows small mouth drooled with memory.

"What happened?"

"What do you think?" the now sarcastic crow said. "I ate him, all of him," he added ruefully.

"How did he taste?"

"I don’t remember," the crow said honestly.

"What good was that then?" the frog asked. He himself was steadfast in his desire to know and understand his enemy. He thought that to know and understand one’s enemies was to have no enemies at all.

"I was hungry. It probably tasted like the other frogs I’ve eaten," the crow said, smiling wickedly. The frog winced, but only for a moment.

"If you can’t remember a meal then you shouldn’t have eaten it," the frog said, hoping to finally get through to the crow.

"Easy for you to say," said the crow accordingly. The frog was not yet near giving up, but was frustrated.

"What is your problem?" asked the frog, neither mad or happy.

"I’m hungry."

"But what if you eat, more than you even need, what is your problem then?"

"I can’t think of things that aren’t in front of me," the crow said without emotion.

"Well go eat and come back and talk to me," said the frog, disgusted at the crow in a green, slimy way.

"No wait," the crow said, hesitating. He was starting to actually like talking to the frog. His mind was stirring up dust that had maybe always been there, but not been touched. It was a new feeling for the crow; he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not because his mind was now almost as loud as his grumbling stomach. "What am I supposed to know?"

"What is it you want to know?" The frog knew he had the crow hooked now.

"Don’t make me think," the crow said listlessly.

"What not?" asked the amused crow.

"Yes, but do you understand the importance of feeling foreign sometimes?"

"No," he said, annoyed.

"It lets you look across the table and see how you really are," said the green frog, shaded by a life-saving root.

"So?"

"Don’t you want to know how you are?" asked the frog.

"I just am how I am," said the crow. He wondered if there was another way under the root. He could smell the frog and again his stomach yelled.

"Aren’t we all?" asked the frog. The question was rhetorical but the crow hadn’t noticed.

"Aren’t we all what? I think you think too often." The hunger swelled within him but the tides were going out.

"What was that? Were you thinking? My, you have made progress." The frog again was amused. "Maybe I’ll let you eat me yet," the frog said in a good-natured way.

"I’ll think of whatever you want if you let me eat you."

"What a deal." The frog smiled. He was using the crow’s hunger against him, and now the crow was ready to think. The possibilities glazed over the frog’s eyes.

"Do you think frogs and crows will ever be friends?"

"No," the crow said decisively. "Unless," remarked the crow quickly, "there is a food that is easy and plentiful, like, like –"

"Frogs," the other said, cutting off the crow.

"Frogs," said the crow. They made eye contact and the frog could see he was still prey.

"Hey, why don’t you go eat some food, and then come back? Then we can really experience each other’s lives," the frog offered.

"Maybe you’d like to come with me," suggested the crow hopefully. "I could show you how I hunt, and you’ll see what it is to hunt and eat, and to need all you eat."

The frog was instantly weary of such an idea but didn’t immediately rule it out. In a perfect world maybe, he thought.

"How did you leave home?" the frog asked.

"I was pushed out," said the crow. "Isn’t everybody?"

"No," the protected frog said. "I just felt the need to have my own space. It was odd," he said after a pause, "it felt so natural. There were so many of us swimming around in that little area. I eventually just went where there were less of my kind. I occasionally come across them, and we are friendly because we will both know that we left, not we were forced out," the frog finished, kind of upset with himself for having made such a rude comment to the crow. "I’m sorry," he said.

"It’s alright," the crow said without emotion. He stared off with blank hungry eyes and was quiet for a moment. "I wish I had left too," he said. "That way I would know I wanted to be gone. Getting to leave would have been nice," he said, and again the crow stared off into the distance, a view that was blocked by the root that held the frog safe. He wanted to see but survival reigned supreme.

"What are you looking at," the frog finally asked.

"Oh, maybe another place to find some food. Aren’t you hungry," the crow asked.

"No," the frog said quietly. He wished that somehow they could be friends. Or at least coexist.

"Hmm," was all the crow said but he continued looking. There was a squint of far off desire in the crow’s eyes. The frog wished the crow wasn’t hungry. Maybe then he would actually get to fly on the crow’s back. He thought about that for a moment and all was still.

"Did you know when you were going to be pushed out," the frog asked, concerned in a motherly way.

"No. We just started getting fed less and then one day, while I was waiting for my mother to return with food she returned empty in her mouth. I was hungry but didn’t know what to do. Then, before I could do anything, she just kind of nudged me out on the side I was leaning and I fell." He was silent for a moment then said with finality. "I’d never even flown before."

"I’m sorry."

"Why?" the crow asked, curious.

"I don’t know, I just think that is a horrible way to grow up," the frog said. He felt truly sorry for the crow. He couldn’t imagine being forced from his home. He didn’t miss it much, though, and asked the crow about it."

"Yeah, I miss home sometimes," the crow said, sounding defeated.

"I wish I did," said the frog.

"What?"

"Miss home. I left and so I don’t miss it. I got what I needed from it, I guess," the frog thought.

"Not me. I had to learn so much, once I got off the ground," the crow said. "It’s scary down here," he said, motioning with his beak and his right wing to the surrounding area.

"The water is frightening too. I live in and out of the water and the creatures are quiet and sneaky. Their motion is smooth and vicious. At least you," the frog said to the hungry crow," are obvious in your movements."

"You think?" The crow was surprised; he felt he too was smooth and vicious.

"Oh yes," the frog said evenly. "I saw you before you saw me I bet," the frog said. The crow was dumbfounded.

"Wow, I can’t believe it."

"Believe me. See, you were looking for something and I was looking for anything."

"What do you mean?" Unfortunately the crow was too hungry for vague gestures.

"Well, you are hungry—"

"Don’t remind me."

"And were looking for something to eat." The frog paused to make sure the crow understood. The crow nodded and so he continued. "I am always being hunted or sought after and so I am always looking for anything that might be dangerous to me." They were both still and the frog was curious to see if the crow understood.

"I see," was all the crow said.

"Do you?" Again, the frog was amused. He was pretty sure the only thing the crow saw was the frog as food.

"Yes, I think so," the crow said earnestly and this surprised the frog. "I’m hungry," the crow said eventually and this of course did not surprise the frog.

"What are you going to do about it?" The frog was still curious but also pleasantly anxious about the crow finding another source of food.

"I don’t know," the crow said with finality. "Probably muster up some energy and fly off to find more food," he said tiredly. "I don’t know," he said again. "Hopefully the next food I find won’t be as talkative as you."

The frog laughed. "I’m sorry," he said, "I really am. But I guess I’ve gotten pretty good at getting away. I like this life and am not ready to let it go."

How do you find the time to enjoy life?" The crow asked, incredulous. "I don’t know if I’ve ever enjoyed life. I just lived it, I guess."

"Not me," said the frog. "There are moments of stress, intense, life-threatening stress," he said slowly, emphasizing the crow and his kind were causes of that stress. "And then there is free time, as I don’t eat much so there are moments where I swim, because I want to, and I relax in the sun, because I want to."

"Not me," the crow said. "Almost everything I do is because I have to. "No," he thought, "sometimes I fly because I want to, but then I get hungry because I fly when I am hungry." The crow stopped and thought about that. "What is it like to swim?"

This change in conversation threw the frog off. "It’s natural, because it’s what I know. But if you’ve never swam, it’s free but in a constricting way, just like being outside the water. It’s always got to be one or the other, eh?" he asked the crow rhetorically.

The crow of course did not know rhetoric and he answered by saying, "Yeah, I guess you’re right."

The frog smiled. The crow was never taught anything; he had probably learned everything he knew. The frog on the other hand had been shown the basics, the important tenets of being a frog. He marveled in how different their lives were yet he still felt a connection to this crow. "You should try swimming," the frog suggested. He could not see the crow’s initial reaction but heard it.

"I don’t know, it looks really foreign to me," he said weakly.

"It is," the frog said quickly, "but the air and the water have similar components. You won’t be able to breathe it, though," said the frog, confirming the crow’s suspicions.

"But how will I—" and he was cut off by the frog’s prepared answer.

"Hold your breath before you go under. You can hold your breath, right?"

"Of course," the crow said, almost indignant.

The frog smiled easily and then said, "Well don’t make me push you in."

The crow crooked his neck to glare at the frog, which gave his best impression of shrugging what shoulders he had. The crow knew what he had to do but it frightened him. He had touched water before, even stuck his nose in to capture a fish a few times but never all the way in. Still, it did make him curious.

"Is it cold," the crow asked.

The frog didn’t say anything. He suspected that he had a different internal system than the crow and that while the water was not cold to him, the crow might find it freezing.

"Well?"

"You’re just gonna have to find out for yourself."

"Alright," the crow said, and he began to move toward the still water. The frog knew if he went in slowly, it would be difficult to get all the way in. His best bet was to jump in.

"You probably need to jump in," suggested the frog innocently.

"Yeah but," the crow began and then his talons were in the cool water and he knew the frog was right. What was going on here? The crow had never thought about wrong and right before, only hunger, and flying, and food. Life had seemed so simple to the crow before coming across this frog. He was frustrated and yet also glad that he had come into contact with his frog. He would never be the same again, he thought. "Alright," said the crow, and with very little effort his wings opened, beat ferociously and then he was high into the sky. The frog came out of his hiding place a little to watch. The crow swooped down fast into the middle of the quiet pond. The ripples sent waves that lapped up near the frog. A moment later was the crow, screaming, shivering how cold it was as he tried to recapture his flying balance. After a moment the crow, wet and black flopped back over to where he and the frog had been talking. The frog moved back to his safety zone and watched the crow regain his composure. When the crow had finished shuddering, he spoke again, but this time as a seemingly new crow. "Wow," he said, "that was refreshing. I feel so alive right now."

"It’s a great feeling, isn’t it?" asked the frog. He wanted the crow to come to his own conclusion so he was quiet.

"It," he began hurriedly, "it was nothing I have ever felt. I have submersed my head before but not my whole body. I felt completely protected and yet suffocated by it. I needed to breathe but I knew I would not be able to. When I realized I could not control this new world, I," he said flushed, "I let it embrace me."

"Yes," said the frog, pleased the crow had opened himself to such an experience.

"Wow," the crow said again. He was blinking his eyes and looking around quickly. "Wow. I’ll have to try that again sometime."

"You should," was all the frog said. In this time, the frog realized it had been awhile since he had had a new emotion, a new vibrancy that seemed to capture his mood. This bothered him and he did not like the jealousy he now felt towards the crow who had succumbed and tried something new. Luckily, the crow was still making sense of what had just happened to him and did not notice that the frog was quiet in his own thoughts. Eventually he did.

"Well," said the crow who sounded ready for anything, "what’s next?"

"I was hoping you could show me what it is like to fly," said the frog, surprised the words had just come from his mouth. Jealousy was green as well and always had the frog doing strange things. Once, when the frog had been greener in the gills than he’d ever been, he stole another frog’s mate to teach him a lesson. And, as in all jealousy-based tactics, it backfired horribly. He had almost been killed in that instance. He thought he had learned but, as we all know now, jealousy has no memory.

Without words, the crow backed towards the root, and lowered himself so the frog could easily climb up onto his back. The frog, green with his jealousy could no longer control that which had kept him alive. He slowly hopped towards the sun, towards the freedom, towards the crow. A voice nagged at him but he quelled it with a bucket of adventurous jealousy.

The crow made no sharp or quick movements as the frog left the safety of the root. The pond to his right reflect the blue sky and white clouds and the tops of the trees, trees the frog would soon be looking down upon.

The crow’s feathered back felt strange to the frog. His heart was racing but they felt no anger. The crow had never had creature on his back before but luckily the frog was not heavy. The breathing of the frog seemed more rapid and he could feel the frog’s heart beat.

"Ready?" asked the crow.

"I think so," the frog said, trying to grab hold of the crow without restricting his wings.

"Alright, here we go," said the crow. He bent his thin, efficient knees and said, "Give me a moment, I’ve never done anything like this before."

The frog laughed, somewhat nervously. "Me either. You think I do this all the time?" He laughed again and braced himself.

When the crow first began, the frog nearly fell off but he held tighter and was frightened by the ferocious energy of the crow’s wings. They beat and fluttered angrily but sure enough, they began to leave the ground. Once in the air, the wing span elongated itself and became more efficient. The frog’s home, a small quiet pond surrounded by trees appeared as the frog had never seen it before. It looked small. It always had seemed enough for the frog but now, but now…

The silence of the air was overwhelming. The crow looked back once awkwardly to see the frog. They were now above the trees and for the first time the frog saw beyond his home. He was speechless and decided to watch.

They had seemed to reach an altitude where the crow didn’t have to beat his wings as hard and the two of them glided above the land, peaceful and true.

After a moment of serenity, the crow looked again and said something to the frog. The frog couldn’t hear him because of the howling wind; he asked the crow to repeat himself. The land below them looked foreign and desolate.

"I’m going to eat you now," said the hungry crow.

The frog was in disbelief and his body shivered. He could not believe what he had just heard. "What?"

"I’m hungry," said the black crow, "and I can get you now."

"Yeah," yelled the frog, "but what about the moment we had? The conversation we had? You’re joking, right?" asked the frog, beginning to feel as if prey again. This time however, he was not calm about it. He was beginning to feel panicked, and he knew he was not in control. He did not like it but he knew it was his own fault. His life had never seemed so impersonal before and all he could think about was the crow’s hunger. Ironically, that was all the crow could think. "Why?" asked the frog.

"Look, when you’re in your world, and I’m in my world, our little bonding moment can happen, and it was even fun," the crow said calmly and without care as to whether the frog heard it all. The frog meanwhile, strained and heard as much as he needed. The crow finished, "But you’re in my world now, and crows eat frogs."

They were both silent now. There wasn’t much to say. The crow was hungry and the frog looked down, wondering where his home was.