FanStory.com - Jeremiah and the Pondby Begin Again

Timmy returned to the pond the following morning with his sketchbook, eager to continue his work. The sun rose, casting a soft golden light over the water, and everything felt more alive.

Timmy sat down at the pond's edge, his brush in hand, and looked at the shimmering water.

He tried again to paint. The ripples, the lily pads, and the sunlight were all there in his mind, but somehow, his brush couldn't capture them. The painting felt flat and lifeless, nothing like the vibrant magic he saw in the real pond yesterday.

"Why can't I get this right?" Timmy muttered in frustration, glancing back at the pond. "I see it in my mind — I can feel it — but it just won't come out."

At that moment, a loud, deep croak echoed across the water. Timmy jerked his head up and found the same Bullfrog sitting on his favorite rock. The frog was lounging comfortably, his gigantic eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, well, well," the frog said with a grin. "You're back again, I see. And still struggling with that painting, huh?"

Timmy blinked, surprised by the frog's casual tone. "You — again?" Timmy chuckled nervously, glancing around. "I thought it was a dream."

The frog raised one eyebrow as if amused. "A dream? Imagining me?"

The frog croaked several times, and Timmy heard a chorus of croaks in the distance as if the frogs were laughing. "No, no, young painter. It would take a very big imagination to conjure up Jeremiah the Bullfrog." A loud belching sound echoed across the pond as if the frog was clearing his throat. "That's me! Jeremiah the Bullfrog. And no, you're not imagining it. I'm very real, and I've been watching you work. It's clear you've got the eye for it, but what you're missing is something even more important — the feeling."

Timmy's eyes widened. "Jeremiah, huh? What makes you such an expert, anyhow? I've never seen a frog paint."

Jeremiah looked long and hard at Timmy, then gazed around the pond to see if anyone was listening before he answered. "Can you keep a secret?"

Timmy nodded vigorously. "I can. That's how I know about this pond. My dad skipped work one day and brought me here to fish and draw. He said his dad did the same a long time ago. I had to promise not to tell Mom. It was our forever secret."

"Hmmm — so you were here with your dad. Did he tell you there's magic here?"

"Magic?" Timmy's mouth dropped wide open.

"Watch out, kid, or you'll be catching flies with your mouth open like that."

"Yuck!" Timmy wrinkled his nose.

"Hey, flies are a delicacy — for frogs, but I remember there was a time I would have reacted the same way."

"You didn't always like flies?" Timmy asked.

"Nope!" Jeremiah croaked again, but very softly this time. "Timmy, once upon a time, long ago, I was a small boy, much like you, except I had no family." Jeremiah gazed around the pond. "This wasn't a pretty place. It was more of an ugly swamp — but it had become my home."

"A swamp? For a home? How'd it become so beautiful?"

"That's the secret. I found it by accident. Two fairies were fighting, and they were so loud that I discovered them. Claudia, the evil one, saw me crouching behind a bush and instantly wanted to turn me into stone. Her sister, Lureene, stood in front of me and took the brunt of the spell. Of course, seeing what she'd done made Claudia go crazy. It was one thing to have childish fights with her sister, but totally something else to turn her to stone. Yani, the God of the Forests, heard Claudia's hysterical pleas and appeared. Long story short, I became the decision-maker. I could choose to leave and never return, but Lureene would remain stone, surrounded by the swamp.

"Oh, she was being punished for doing something good. That's not fair."

"Agreed. Yani said the other choice was to turn the swamp into a beautiful pond where the fairy sisters would live in peace, but in order to do that, I would have to become a frog."

"You chose to be a frog?" Timmy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Why would you do that? Claudia tried to hurt you."

"True, but Lureene sacrificed her life for me. I decided I owed her the same. And being a frog in a beautiful pond seemed far more inviting than a lonely boy in a swamp. Here I have loads of friends. I could actually feel the joy in everything."

"That's what you meant when you said I need to feel what I paint, not what I see. But I don't know how to do that."

Jeremiah croaked again, hopping down from his rock and landing with a soft splash on the grass. He nestled himself, his legs stretching out beneath him. "Well, let me tell you something, Timmy. You're seeing it with your eyes but not truly feeling it. You've got to listen to the pond. You can paint the shapes, the colors, the light all you want, but you won't capture the magic until you understand its rhythm."

Timmy stared at the frog, still unsure of what he meant. "The rhythm?"

"Exactly!" Jeremy said, puffing out his chest. "The pond is full of stories, kid. And it doesn't just sit still waiting for you to paint it. The trees sway with the breeze, the fish dart through the water, and the lily pads — well, they float and spin, but they've got their own little dance. The magic of the pond is in its movement. You've got to feel it."

Timmy looked at the pond again, trying to see what Jeremy meant. The water rippled gently, the leaves rustled with the breeze, and the sunlight bounced off the surface like scattered diamonds. It was all there, in front of him. But how could he paint it? How could he capture the life of the pond?

"I don't know if I can feel it the way you do," Timmy admitted, lowering his brush. "I see the water moving, but I don't know how to make it come alive on the page."

Jeremy the Bullfrog grinned. "Ah, that's the key. Close your eyes, Timmy. Don't just look. Feel the air on your skin, the sound of the water, the sway of the trees. You don't need to focus so hard on the details. You need to let the magic flow through you first."

Timmy hesitated for a moment but decided to give it a try. He closed his eyes, and suddenly, everything around him seemed more vivid. He could feel the warm sun on his face, the soft rustle of leaves, and the coolness of the water rippling across the pond. He could almost hear the whispered stories of the pond — the quiet hum of life.

When he opened his eyes again, he didn't look at the pond the same way. This time, he didn't focus on the individual parts. He let his brush move freely, capturing the fluidity, life, and movement of the water, the breeze, and the sunlight.

And to his amazement, the painting seemed to come alive. The water sparkled, the trees swayed in the breeze, and the lily pads drifted gently across the surface, just as they did in the real pond.

"There," said Jeremiah with a satisfied grin. "See? The magic was there all along, waiting for you to notice. You didn't just paint what you saw. You painted what you felt."

Timmy stepped back, staring at his painting in awe. He had done it! It looked like the real pond — alive and full of magic.

The Bullfrog gave a small, triumphant croak. "It's not about getting it perfect, Timmy. It's about capturing the magic. You've got it now. And remember, the pond has many more stories to tell, but only if you're ready to listen."