Over the past few days, the heat and humidity rose along with the spring-singing frogs, a gradual crescendo building (almost) to a climax, but we were denied the rain. Only a few flickers of lightning and distant thunder early yesterday morning, and it was gone.
The frogs are still here, though, and if I close my eyes, it’s summer, and hot and green and lush… frogs bring dreams of plenty. The ice is off our pond, and I find wild geranium sprouts, irises, daffodils, sweet woodruff and chives. Budding treetops bathe in a red-gold copper sun. And still the frogs sing, sing us to sleep – to push out of the mud a little further tomorrow.