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Stepping out of my street clothes

Into the not quite warm enough water

Of the frog people who sang of desire

In the unique way of their kin.


The Chorus Frogs

The Bull Frogs

The Leopard Frogs

The Green Frogs


Others competing for the attention

Of a lady, perhaps seen, perhaps not.

The persistent songs shattering the

Quiet and calling others for back up.


The Barred Owl

The Coyote

The Crickets

The Katydid


Going about making their living under

The light of a crescent, waxing or waning,

With percussion provided by creatures

Announcing themselves in splashes.


The Bass

The Slider

The Raccoon

The Possum


Some drawing traces in the darkness on

The floor where the gooseberry ripens.

Some scribbling endlessly on the near

Ceiling higher than the tallest of the oaks.


The White-tailed Deer

The Skunks

The Little Brown Bats

The Nighthawks


Perhaps I was the only one cognizant of

My respective relatives on that night.

Perhaps everyone was immersed in

The special ambiance of this place.








By Cindy Owsley, Master Naturalist