In the litter-strewn ditch by the meadow, where once cattle grazed, but now Glamping pods stand proclaiming A Meadow View.
There are no Frogs here anymore!
In the dip by the river where reeds and sedges crowd and a few last Cuckoo flowers stands of cotton grass cling on in the boggy ground.
There are no Frogs here anymore
In the pond shaded by trees, next to the fence where piles of logs and rubble have been left in corners as refuges.
There are no Frogs here anymore.
I am saddened as I walk home remembering the harbingers of Spring. Impossibly early they would appear. Eyes watched from beneath the surface whilst they remained submerged.
Their arrival marked by croaking and sudden splashing if they were startled. Then would come the jostling and pushing as bodies writhed and the water bubbled and pulsated with their energy, enthusiasm, and desperation to breed.
They would leave almost overnight, the water now a mass of translucent eggs each with a dark centre. As the weather warmed the eggs would wriggle and burst, into black commas that squirmed and nibbled in the shallows.
As the grass grew longer suddenly miniature frogs emerged clambering through the meadow jungle.
Sometimes whilst watering the plants, an amphibian would lurk beneath the foliage or overwinter in the trays of water under the plant pots in the greenhouse.
But there are no frogs here anymore.
Written following a walk where there were no frogs in their usual habitat and for World Earth Day 2023.
changinglifestyleblog 