“What was that?” I stare at Papa wide-eyed while he swats at a mosquito buzzing the rim of his straw hat. Sweat trickles into cracks on his tanned face.
He grins at me. “That was a fish gulping at a bug on the water’s surface. Quiet now… more will come if we don’t make noise.” His voice disappears with the breeze. His leathered hand holds a wooden fishing pole.
The little raft glides in silence across the gelatin green water, its glossy surface conceals secrets below.
What if there is something big I can’t see? “Papa, I’m scared. What if…”
He grins again. “Little One…” he whispers. “There’s nothing bigger than your fore-arm. You have nothing to be frightened of.”
I try so hard to be brave and quiet. A frog is hopping on the steep bank that holds the water in. Its long legs repel it into the murkiness. Ripples spread and more frogs reveal their hiding places. They chirp in frantic retaliation. It was such a silly sound. Their slimy bodies camouflage amongst the gooey sludge and vanish as we get closer. Cattails’ fluffy seed pods float on the sticky air.
“Papa, what’s that?”
“That, Little One, is a deer.” Reaching into the pocket of his overalls, he reveals a golden timepiece. “Gettin’ late.” He rows us to the bank.

Papa leads us down a dirt path. He pats my head, and says, “Come on, Little One. Maybe next time.”