peepers

I began hearing the tree frogs again late last week. We were up on the hill pruning the blueberry bushes, and I noticed it. There's a swampy area in the woods not far from there, where the frogs (commonly known as "spring peepers") live. They need the water for their young, and I think they hibernate in the mud over the winter, but then crawl up in the trees and begin looking for mates when it gets warm enough. Their chorus sounds a lot like a field of crickets, like millions of sleigh bells.

It was good to hear them again, their constant, familiar song that seems to have no end. It was as if they had never stopped. Then I headed home and as I got near the ridge overlooking the farm buildings, I heard the creek far below. Gurgling its own endless song. I was caught for a moment between the two.

They reminded me of the land, of the continuity of nature, and how small and temporary we are sitting on it. A different perspective, a longer view. Our worries and squabbles seem much less from that perspective. I hope I can keep it.