Frog Song

by Amy Martin (c)

The frogs are singing. A solo love serenade has turned into a duet, the croaking drawing closer, then building in intensity to a watery drunken bliss. In the morning, lines of eggs like miniature black pearls will lace my tiny pond.

Rain has come to North Texas again, just as the trees were looking sunburned, wilted and grey. a good soaking rain, the kind that looks yellow on the weather map with streaks of thunderous red that cause the dog to pace. Rain barrels fill up for gardeners, plant leaves swell with moisture, animals lose theirĀ  coats of dust, ozone washes from the air. The sudden cool will prompt a brief bloom of flowers for hummingbird and the last few butterflies. Good for everyone.

Earlier that evening, as dusk was moving in, I could feel the heaviness in the air. Neighborhood noises sounded louder, pressed to the ground by the low pressure. My barometric joints creaked in confirmation. Not an ominous feel, more like a concentrated focus, a sense of preparation like the swell of the ocean before it breaks into a wave. Attuned to urban patterns and way, the birds swarmed the feeders, knowing that the seed would be soft and soaked in the morning.”

“I am a being of Heaven and Earth, of thunder and lightning, of rain and wind, of the galaxies.” ~ Eden Ahbez