Gray Treefrogs are nearly invisible, but you find them everywhere. They look like lichen-covered tree bark, and during the day hide silent as stones under tools in the yard, upturned buckets, the siding on the house, etc..
If you pick one up, and open your hand to look, it will leap onto the nearest treelike object, which is usually your wife or daughter, or perhaps the gentleman at the door endeavoring to interest you in the salvation of your soul. Indeed, they do. They cling with a wet thwack, like a soggy noodle, to roughly the same place you’d stick a lapel pin, or boutonnière.
At night, after a summer storm, they get out of hand in other ways, in which they make the loud noises, instead of their startled landing sites.
Great wind for sailing last weekend. Too bad I couldn’t take advantage of it.
This is what it’s like: You wait all week to get back to work. You plan your steps, lay out your tools, go through the motions, in your mind working through the trouble spots. The day arrives and you wake up early, all spunky and ready to go. You got your coffee, your music, you even fire up the saw and make a couple of good cuts. Continue reading “Words Fail, as does the Power”
I hope you can hear this. The vagaries of computers and the web makes some things uncertain. But if you can, this is what it sounds like here, right now, tonight. Driving home from work late, just after dark, I rolled down the windows just to listen when passing a wet place in the woods, or a farm pond overgrown.
Nothing sounds more like Spring to me than peepers on the first warm night of the year, the same way calls of geese coursing southward overhead on moonlit nights, plaintive and cacophonous, sound like fall. Minstrels announcing the entrance and exit of a very hard season, with a harmonic flourish.