Photos are of the Full Wolf Moon on 16 Jan 2022. Video is of a frog chorus on a night ride 12 Feb 2022—not out in the pasture, as the pond there is dry from lack of rain, but in an little stream where they are so close to the highway they can’t completely drown out the sound of cars.
(Note: To view video, it may be necessary to first click on link at bottom of video screen, then click again at link at top of video screen.)
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The prose below was first published on May 30, 2009.
Frog Season
Out into the late afternoon this Full Wolf Moon lures me,
“Never mind the uncertainty of the storm clouds.
“Come alive! Be under grey skies again.”
I feel the life of a well-soaked, well-aged log beneath me,
smell rich green clover sprung up all around,
watch my daughter’s happy woodland play,
gaze up at the dark ridge, down at the lush ground,
and remember that this healer isn’t known for making home visits:
Nature, the Good Nurse.
At night frogs call me with a chorus mighty in volume
and strong in abrupt silence.
The pond is full again. It’s frog season.
After my family is sleeping, I head for the water.
The dog stirs and follows me through the garden gate
and over the pasture fence.
They sing so loud! They fill my soul with real life—
up from the dark depths, coming out in the moonlight.
Their chants take me apart, bring me peace.
They drown out all sounds of this swelling coast,
blind me to new houselights in the distance.
I think of mud,
sink deep into the earth,
find my soul.
Horses’ hooves thunder on the wet ground.
The dog herds them. It’s her hunting game.
It’s deep in her blood, this thing to do.
It’s deep in mine.
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