It surprises me to step outside after the rain. The grey air moves with warmth. So warm for fall.
A warm breeze, which stops when I turn my head to track it.
Plant-scent hangs over the heavy wet fields. The rain has cleared the air so colours are more intense than usual: deep reds and dark greens.
Somehow in the stillness I get a sense of motion. Where there is life, there is a pulse: I get down on my hands and knees to see: the throb in the throat of a dirt road frog.
I dig out my camera and try to take a photo. But my lens mists over. So I simply crouch down and watch.
The frog is watching me back. Black pupil in a bronze eye.
Do you know something that I don’t, frog?
And then he’s off.
The frog crosses the road in a few quick bounds, each leap several times his length. Across and over and down into the ditch.