‘Not another one,’ thought Toad as a dark pebble hit the pond. Toad hated his revere being disturbed as he sat in the bottom of the pond, doing things only toads know about.

How was a Toad to achieve irresistible beauty if his solitude was constantly disturbed by those pesky kids?

“Splonk, splash, splonk.”

He shifted slightly to save himself the continued interruption of the falling pebbles. Above he could see the kids aiming to make a bigger splash than before.

Patience was not something Toad possessed. He had selected this particular pond because of its seclusion.

‘What a mistake,’ he thought, ‘now I am in the firing line,’ as another pebble zinged past him.

Continue reading at Morpeth Road