The night becomes a giant amplifier, poignant frog calls broadcasting to distant
shores, celebrating spring. The ponds are alive with little frogs, croaking with
wild abandon, luxuriating in warming up wetness, giving it all, holding nothing back.
Singing in unbridled anticipation of the sensual pleasures of the pond, out of control
with lusty expectation, with a confidence all out of proportion to their size. Revitalized
by warmth, on the move again, and hungry for love. It keeps me awake, then lulls
me to sleep.