The frogs are once again croaking in our pond. They’re called Wood Frogs, named, I believe, because they live most of the time in the woods. They search out water in which to breed, often shallow ponds, known as vernal ponds.
In our yard, they breed in the deep pond my husband dug to catch water for the garden. Right now, along with the frogs, the red-winged blackbirds are singing and squeaking to each other. They’re massed in a tree just near the pond, over the frogs.
Time’s getting short, it all seems to say. There’s so much to do right now. Seeds to start, a garden to spread manure over and till (my husband’s tasks). For me, there are stories to finish, shortcakes and biscuits to bake–book proposals to wrangle.
With an orangey-pink sunset, and the promise of more sunshine tomorrow, all one can do is keep on. Really.