The mata caballo and the golden frog of the kiosk

It was half past ten in the morning on May 28th when Omar Enrique Verdugo Cabeza was washing the feeding trays for the parrots, there at the Vista al Lago Uno kiosk, when something in the undergrowth caught his eye. At first he thought it was two snakes running together — one behind the other through the dense green. It was a second later that he realized: what was fleeing was not a snake at all, but a yellow-golden frog, slipping between the leaves with the desperation of one who knows that time is running out. What struck him most was the mata caballo's technique: its body stretched flat against the ground, invisible among the brush, and its head raised in the air, turning, tracking, reading the world with that forked tongue that never rests. When the undergrowth stopped moving, the snake lowered its head. The hunt was over. Omar stepped closer and found it feeding on the frog. He waited. When it had finished eating, the mata caballo went still and looked at him. It flicked its tongue out again and again, unhurried, the way one might acknowledge a neighbor without alarm. Around these parts they call it mata caballo for its length, its speed, and that temper that surfaces when it's cornered — though with those who give it respect, they say, it doesn't go looking for trouble. Omar took its photograph. The territory, as always, continued on its way.