Rain

Lichens and Fungi on dead log

The bright color brought me there, subtle beauty kept me, hunkered down, after rains had passed, on the narrow bank beside a tiny creek. This area untouched by the years’ changes, woods to pasture to scrub. Intact land, preserved as all around it lost to agriculture—these small plots still stand, saved because they could not serve.

White Trillium, Trillium grandiflorum

In air dripping with the sweetness of fruit blossoms, more wildflowers, natives here, beneath the old trees marking the small creek’s path.
Nodding beneath the heavy droplets,
their broad leaves drinking in spring.
While toads add their voices, each to the growing trill, the melancholy chords, build in a distant pond.

White Trillium
The Ohio State Wild Flower

I pass a neighbor’s yard, each evening, as I walk down our lane. His woods, old like mine, now raked bare, piles burned, the dark earth turned and prepared to seed—grass.
And I wonder if he has chosen to rid the banks of these old beauties,
or if he has not seen them as I have--
on a dim morning, drinking in the spring rain.

Mayapple, Podophyllum peltatum

Mayapple, not yet unfurled

Small world

I was in the very midst of them and hadn’t even noticed.
The finest spun creations, that from my standing position, seemed to be no more than sparkling masses in the grass--catching the morning sun.


On my hands and knees, it is quite different. For when I enter their world, what was without form from a distance, immediately reveals its beauty. Each no more than a couple inches across and designed by an artist the size of my freckle, I settle in and watch.
A visitor to the colony of the tiniest orb-weavers imaginable.

Last night’s dew hangs on each cord. Strings of pearls, draped perfectly from stem to stem with such weight, they look as if they should break.
And at the center, the artist himself—a small, red spider.






Only one is working this morning—scampering with such speed, round and round. And in the few minutes I watch her, lays down 4 rings of fine thread, each precisely placed from the last. I hope she is just an early riser inspired by the morning sun and is not frantically replacing a web my foot unknowingly destroyed.



What does she hope to catch in this tiny round web, aside from the sun and drops of dew?
There are many other residents of her very small world.

small grasshopper

small praying mantis drinking dew drop

small American Toad


Click on images to enlarge.

Wild Saturday Night

Sometimes I scare myself, walking in the dark around the pond.
At night, it becomes a very different place, filled with different sounds,
illuminated only by the moon—and my flashlight.

Back in a shallow corner, the toads are trilling again. I can see their small bodies in the distance, sitting on clumps of algae—projecting their songs across the water into the night.


And, at the shoreline, a pair of steady white eyes that are caught in the beam of my light, as I scan the surface. Probably deer, unsure if they should bound into the safety of the woods--for I know they drink at this shallow, and follow the many prints they leave on these trails.

The water is already lower than I had hoped, for April. Spring rains that filled it to bursting a few weeks ago, have already found their way to a muskrat hole and emptied a foot of depth. But the edge areas are walkable now, and nighttime hides my stalking figure from what lives here.

They seem to have no fear—at least of me—as they summon others of their kind. American toads.


Or is it, that the force that has drawn them from land to this water is stronger than fear.
I dim my light, and unseen figures raise their voices, joining the appeal.


A splash...and a swirl startle me.
Probably, the muskrat, who crosses these shallows underwater, is equally alarmed--
surprised to see my large spotted boots so close to her watery front door.
Little ripples disturb the smooth surface,
as last year's bullfrog tadpoles
and small fish scurry past my toes.



In the reflected light of the full moon, I can see now that the water beside me has been interrupted -- a large mass of algae protruding above the surface. Almost as if I wasn't standing there at all, a huge snapping turtle, barely identifiable beneath her mossy shell, drifts closer--her feeding, the swirling I thought to be the muskrat.
This enormous turtle, that, in daylight, plunges beneath the surface when I approach from yards away, now, calmly searches the muck around my boot for dinner--or perhaps, intends to snag a distracted toad.


An unusual sound, muffled and throaty, draws my eyes to the opposite bank. I watch with my light as she leaves, the dry grass rustling as her small form moves away from the pond toward the oak woods.
She pauses often to look back at me as she trots off—
her glowing eyes, amber.

Animals of the night have eyes that have a mirror-like surface, the tapetum lucidum, which intensifies what little light there is available. When a flashlight or headlight of a vehicle reflects off this surface, the eyeshine of a characteristic color is sometimes seen.

Caption contest

Gotcha!

Still no toads to be found in our pond or pools--but down the road, things are hopping!
American Toads, in their nighttime frenzy to find a mate--
boldly clasping anything (or anyone) who is near.

Low water

The rumble of this afternoon's storms did little to bring us water. The showers passed--the dryness is still here.


I walked the mud flats--for the first time, able to walk the edge of the pond, without sinking into the mud. Little toads, barely visible hopped everywhere. Young American Toads? Tiny, camouflaged against the muddy flatness, where the pond had been.



The water in the shallow arms is green with growth--on top and throughout, giving it a soupiness, suitable for frogs.

This dragonfly was depositing eggs into the water.



From such an unpretty beginning--such a lovely treasure--with jewels on her wings!