Peepers – Day 129

Super Worm Moon – bisected by an errant cloud; Photo: L.Weikel

Peepers         

They started hatching last week, when the temperature soared to over 70 degrees two days in a row and the evenings barely dipped into the 40s.

A sure sign of spring, peepers are symbols of hope. They are evidence of life surviving the dark bleak wasteland of winter.

Their cacophonic voices can reach a frightful volume, especially when they all seem to be crawling out of their primordial ooze at the same time. The moistness of the boggy land just beyond and partially within the forests around our home lends itself to images of armies of these newly hatched amphibians poking their heads out of the mud in unison – or maybe in waves –  singing and croaking their way to dinner and sex. Or is it sex then dinner? Not sure. Maybe they’re just babies, Lisa. Get your mind out of the mud.

Onomatopoeia At Its Finest

Every year, as we walk our usual route, we’re enchanted by the emanations and eruptions coming from these swampy enclaves. Some peepers sound exactly as their names imply. Onomatopoeia at its finest. But then there are The Others.

The Others sound precisely like one might imagine beings from outer space sounding. You know, when they gurgle burgle up from their hiding places in the Earth’s mud only to sprout arms and legs and turn into massive praying mantis like beasts who make it clear they’ve been biding their time, patiently waiting for the perfect opportunity to become our tyrannical overlords – or eat us for dinner.

Those deeper, scratchier-voiced frogs that seem to arrive alongside the peepers lend themselves to active imaginations, especially since their volume grows exponentially as the sun sets and shadows make seemingly normal trees and branches appear deeply unfamiliar and a little bit spooky. I wish I could figure out how to upload my iPhone recording of these creatures and their preternatural voices. For now, this little recording by someone else will have to do.

Balanced Stillness

We took a walk this evening just after the moon had technically reached its full ripeness and just as the equinox was reaching its perfect point of balanced stillness.

Regrettably, as my rather pathetic photos show, a cloud cover marred her grand entrance and denied us the opportunity to behold the ‘full super worm moon’ in all her unfettered glory.

As we walked, though, we listened to the voices of the peepers and their compatriots growing louder and louder. A soft wind gently rustled the still leafless branches of the trees at the edge of the meadows making them clack and groan ever so softly. We sensed something.

We stopped and looked at each other. We both noticed it; the hairs on our arms and at the back of our necks rose up.

It was the Spirit of Spring Equinox arriving, tiptoeing into our lives, dangling her shoes from her fingertips, a slender finger held to her lips.

Bringing us hope.

(T-982)