Dave Hop Neville the little green frog took a hop along the riverbank.
Christmas was in the air, a bite of frost and the distant sound of carol singers. The lily pads shone in the rising moon, the cobwebs sparkled brittle and silver in between shimmering branches.
As he hopped his mind became a kind of festive kaleidoscope.
Decorations, the baby in the manger, the crinkly wrapping paper, the twitching candle light, familiar songs, shepherds, trees heavy with baubles, feelings of loneliness, moments of joy and frustration, memories of wonder and disappointment… all muddled together somehow. A sort of Christmas soup.
When he got to his friend Toad’s house there were bright lights in the window, a twinkling welcome.
Inside he talked while Toad listened, nodded and cooked him a different kind of soup. The kind that warmed his soul.
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