The wetter, the better

I'm finding that rain is nice.

What would, any other year, be a reason to stay indoors and wish for sunny skies' return, has become an invitation to go out.
Over the puddled pasture, now lush green tufts of tender field grasses, I step slowly along.
The water's chill felt through my boots on dry, warm toes inside.

No wood frogs tonight--only peepers and chorus frogs. The coppery adults, who floated, days earlier, effortlessly on the surface of wood pool, have silently gone.
But their eggs have come to life.

By the hundreds and thousands, the tadpoles cluster upon the bright green, algae-filled gelatinous masses. In writhing huddles, they wriggle.
Their safety, each other.


Now, the race begins.
To leave, as all wood frogs do--
before summer empties this pool.