Frog Interlude

Clouds were lining the sky yesterday when I walked down to the wildlife sanctuary near my house. I’d just rounded the parking circle in front of the Welcome Center, and begun walking in the direction of home, when I wondered, “Might the frogs be out?” So I turned and headed toward the Welcome Center. As I came around the side of the building and up onto the boardwalk that runs behind it, along the vernal pool, I heard them. Their croaking voices – far bigger than their newly-awakened bodies – seemed to fill every bit of water and air. They rested languidly on the pond’s surface, undisturbed by thoughts of crown-shaped bugs or rivals of a political stripe. I took a seat on a bench and let their voices drown out the ones in my head. When I opened my eyes, the sun was out. I leaned over the railing and looked down at the little pond-dwellers.  I smiled as I took in their antics, and felt grateful for the laugh they managed to draw up from my murky depths.