Ancient Wine-Bibbers

"The shore rang with the trump of bullfrogs, the sturdy spirits of ancient wine-bibbers and wassailers..."
From Thoreau's Sounds



As I sit here on my bed in the comforts of my room I can hear the croaking of the wild frogs outside. I have not been home to Calabasas in quite some time and sit here alone to appreciate the sounds. I don't remember these powerful bloated bellied animals when I last returned home for a visit. Is it the season for them to take over the grasses and spread a chorus that echos throughout the neighborhood? Or is it that I have never once just sat and listened to what they had to say? I am hoping that it is just the season for them. For if I have simply been too busy to recognizes these creatures of the night my heart will ache to reverse the clock. If anything I know that now I am taking the time to catch the repeating syllables that form meaning to these little army men who sneak through the grass. I wish that they weren't so good at hide and go seek and I would be able to go outside and watch their little necks expand with every croak. I guess there are some things in nature that only wish to be heard and intermittently seen. I will appreciate their choir and wait until they want to be seen. Why am I always wanting more than what I have been given? Isn't their wonderful choir enough? I guess that is what I need to learn to do... appreciate the little things in nature.

[Image:http://www.mlahanas.de/Greeks/LX/TheFrogs.html]