Russian Roulette

I stopped the car to let a frog pass.
It was not a big frog, but a small one, delicate, almost transparant, the lights of the car caught it.
"What was that?", my mother asked.
"A frog", I said. "Just a frog".
I could as well have killed it and I wouldn't have had any regrets. I probably wouldn't have noticed. Frogs are soft. How many ants do I kill a week, a year, since I had my driver's license? Never noticed. I seem to accept the fact that what I don't know of does not affect me as well as I accept that the big and strong rules over the little and weaker.
I didn't kill it. I stopped the car and let it pass. Because I saw it. I was aware of its existance, we shared a moment. I saw its long hind legs stretching and contracted again, its reaching out with the arms, the little pointed face, and then gone.
"It's very unpleasant, when you hit them", my mother remarked.
I dropped her off by the hotel and turned the car around, let it free-wheel down the hill. This time the movement came from the opposite side of the road, the frog had changed its mind, it wanted to go back where it came from. Once more I stopped the car and let it by, not sure at all which perspective should be taken, from how far or how close the frog and I should be looked at.