I swear they weren't there this morning. Of course, I was distracted because I thought I'd heard my first phoebe of spring, so maybe I missed them. They definitely weren't there yesterday. But this afternoon I suddenly noticed that the coltsfoot was blooming under the white pine outside our office--our first wildflower of the season. Perhaps the day's freakish 80-degree weather enticed the multitudes of yellow blossoms up through the pine needles in record time.

Later, I ran sluggishly across town, my asthmatic lungs unaccustomed to the heat. As I neared my destination, however, my pace picked up. I could hear a loud chorus of peepers in Lily Pond, behind the Y. They weren't there a couple of nights ago. We drove home the long way, through Aldermere Farm, with windows down so we could hear them in full force. A hot pink sunset was settling over the pond as we drove past, and a flock of geese grazed in the pasture. If the songs of frogs can make our spirits soar so easily, imagine how the female tree frogs must feel.

Light, warmth, and hormones--
simple recipe to thrill
hearts of frogs, and us.