Fate of the Mayfly

The soft shades of pink and orange on the undersides of the few wispy clouds scattered across the western sky signaled the coming of the great light. Below, the water was placid, disturbed only here and there by the briefest flick of a trout’s tail.

From the primordial depths, the pupal larva of the mayfly shrugged free from the muck, wound past the slowly swaying reeds on her way toward the surface, and emerged into a new world. She blinked her primitive, unfocusing eyes.

Water, air, sky, light.

By the side of the lake perched an ominous form, its skin a shimmering green, rows of black spots lined its broad, flat head and long front legs. The creature did not move.

“Who are you?” inquired the mayfly, her voice quivering.

“I am a frog,” said the frog.

“Do you intend to eat me?”

“Yes.” The frog looked out at the expanse of water, the grey and black and beige rocks lining the edge, the coniferous trees still in the breezeless morning. “But not just yet. That will come later.”

“I see,” said the mayfly, relaxed by the frog's sincerity. The mayfly stretched and strained against her hard exoskeleton, which cracked open in a seam along her back.

“I appreciate your honesty, frog," she said.

“There’s no reason to lie about it," said the frog. "I am a frog and you are a mayfly. It is my nature to eat you. There is very little either of us can do to avoid that fate.”

"Why do you not just eat me now? I am near to you and am not yet able to move very quickly. It would be easy."

"If I did that, I would not have anything to eat tomorrow." The frog considered the moment. "And now, I supposed, you're going to ask me what 'tomorrow' is, and I will tell you that it is not for you to worry about."

The mayfly and the frog observed one another in silence. The mellow morning light touched the rock where the frog sat and began to inch across its surface. “Ahh, this here, this is my favorite part,” said the frog, turning his head upward and closing his eyes, soaking it in. "Now that's just lovely."

“What is that thing?” asked the mayfly.

“It is the great light. It starts over there,” said the frog motioning toward the east, his eyes still closed and his head upturned. “And it ends over there.” He flicked his head toward the west.

“What happens then?”

“Then it will be dark again, and you will die,” said the frog.

“Because you will eat me?”

"Yes. But it does not matter. Even if I do not eat you, your life will come to an end.”

“Is it long, the time between light and dark?”

“For you, I suppose it is. It is a lifetime.”

The frog opened one eye and looked again at the mayfly, who had managed by then to tear her shell open along its entire length and was squirming, twisting her torso this way and that, her translucent wings still amniotic and flat along her back. The mayfly saw the frog watching and stopped momentarily.

“What should I do with my life?” asked the mayfly. “The great light is already above the trees. I do not wish to waste any of it.”

“First things first,” said the frog. “You need to open those wings and fly. The trout are hungry today, and it will not be long before they find you. That would be a great shame for both of us.”

The mayfly gave one last push and shed the last vestige of her pupal skin. She stretched one wing and then the other, holding them up. A slight wind had begun to blow, rippling the surface of the lake. “Like this?” The mayfly flapped her wings up and down, testing their strength, feeling them catch the air and lift slightly.

“That’s right,” said the frog. “Now fly.”

The mayfly flapped faster and faster, her legs coming gradually out of the water. Higher she climbed until she was looking down at the frog from what felt like a great height. “I’m doing it,” the mayfly called down to the frog, obviously quite pleased with herself. She zipped back and forth, hovering over land and water, testing her speed and agility.

“Indeed, you are,” said the frog as a trout, open-mouthed and hungry, swallowed the mayfly’s discarded shell. "And not a moment too soon.”

“Tell me what to do now, frog. The great light is climbing higher. What is there in this world to see?”

The frog made his way toward the edge of the rock and submerged his front half in the cool water of the lake. “There is this lake, and around it there are rocks and trees. Once, when I was young, I swam to the other side. It is far for me, but you have wings and can fly. You could go there, if you like. That is what your ancestors did yesterday and the day before and the day before that.”

The mayfly said nothing before darting off, her wings already steady and strong. The frog watched her go. Then he slid his hind legs from the rock and swam calmly toward the shade of a downed tree branch. There the frog dozed in the heat of the midday sun.

He was awoken a short time later by the returning mayfly. “Wake up, frog!” she said excitedly. I have so much to tell you. What a grand place this world is. I have seen fish and birds and rocks. And there are so many others like me, flying this way and that.”

The frog lazily opened one groggy eye and watched the mayfly.

“What should I do now, frog, before you eat me?”

“Now it is time for you to mate.”

“What is mate?”

“It is what you do. Go find love, or at least lust. You are not so young anymore. Do you see the great light in the sky? Do you see how far it has traveled? You must hurry.”

“Thank you, frog. I’m very lucky that I found you. You are very wise.”

The frog didn’t say anything. Once again, the mayfly flew off across the water. The shadows from the trees reached their crooked fingers into the obscured depths. Above the water, a cloud of coupling mayflies thickened the afternoon air.

When the mayfly returned, the frog was waiting for her.

“I found a mate,” said the mayfly, her voice melancholy and no longer brimming with the jubilant excitement of youth. “We danced together above the lake and when we were done, he fell into the water. I tried to help him. I told him to keep flapping his wings, but he could not do it. He was too tired.”

“I know that you must be sad,“ said the frog, “but do not be. He fulfilled his purpose.”

“I laid my eggs in the water not far from here.”

The frog nodded in acknowledgement. The great light was low in the sky, and the colors had returned to the clouds. Purple and dark blue and red and burnt orange.

“I am so very tired now,” said the mayfly. “My wings ache. I am afraid that I do not have the strength to keep them going.” The frog once again pulled himself onto the rock.

“This is how it is,” said the frog. “Your life is coming to an end.”

“I see,” said the mayfly. “Just as you said it would be, so it is.” The mayfly dropped a bit lower in the sky above the frog. “It has been a good life. I have traveled and seen the world, I have loved and lost love, I have given birth.” The mayfly looked down at the frog. “And I have had friendship. Thank you for that.”

“You are welcome,” said the frog. “It has been a pleasure.”

The mayfly drew closer still.

“What is that new thing in the sky?” asked the mayfly. “It is round like the great light, but it is much cooler.”

“That is the silver orb,” said the frog. “It means the time has come.”

“I see.” The mayfly was now right in front of the frog, the two face to face. "I am ready, dear friend. Goodbye.”

Frog flicked his tongue. In the evening cool, the shimmering light of the moon shone bright on the still water.