The air is sweet with honeysuckle, thick with frogsong—and a heaviness that wishes for rain.
Ahead of my steps along the path, small Woodfrogs and even tinier Spring Peepers, several weeks ago nothing more than specks of black within the clouded gelatinous masses floating in Little Pond Pool, scurry to bury themselves in a tangle of uncut grass—their safety, a hasty retreat.
While, poised and patient, the treefrog, noisy into the night with song, waits for me to pass. Long, knobby toes curled carefully, stepping and sticking tight, his safety--hiding in plain sight.
(Green color phase to match his surroundings)
click photos to enlarge