Here is a small sample:
It’s a strange, stirring, but not uncommon thing to come on a pool at night, after an evening of thunder and lightning and a bit of rainfall, and see the frogs clinging to the edge of their impermanent pond, bodies immersed in water but heads out, all croaking away in tricky counterpoint. They are windbags: with each croak the pouch under the frog’s chin swells like a bubble, then collapses.
Why do they sing? What do they have to sing about? Somewhat apart from one another, separated by roughly equal distances, facing outward from the water, they clank and croak all through the night with tireless perseverance. . . .*
Here's a funny thing. Reading that description of frogs croaked immediately brought to mind my summer vacation. John and I traveled to Bogue Chitto State Park in Louisiana and stayed at a wonderful cabin. We were serenaded ALL DAY EVERY DAY by these friends:
And so I am reminded yet again of the thread of commonality that binds us all to everything at all times. Frogs in the desert. Frogs in the swamp. Frogs in two places at the same time.
I even wrote a poem about it.
Bogue Chitto. Sand bars, rocky ones,
and an unexpected boardwalk over a bog.
Moss and persistent frogs, their echoing voices
clanking back and forth, one here, one there.
A heavy humidity, hot, dense,
so the AC is like a punch across your face
as you step inside the cabin. On vacation.
I have a couple more quotes from the Abbey book to share. Looking forward to ending this small series with one of his righteous rants!
*Desert Solitaire, copyright 1968, Edward Abbey, Touchstone/Simon & Schuster