There is a frog that lives in the pond. Everytime I walk up the steps to visit the water feature and have a general looksee around the area, he jumps off of the mossy rock into the water. I never actually see him, but hear the splash and see the water ripple.
It is out of the corner of my eye, movement so fast my mind can’t send the message to my brain fast enough to turn and watch it. I never have the camera with me, either, and wouldn’t be quick enough on the click to capture the image anyway. I can’t even see it with my eyes. But sometimes the camera sees things that I miss.
I can imagine that little frog leaping with fright into the safety of the water as the big, bungling human clomps around the area. Little does the frog know that it is time to clean out the leaves, twigs and debris from the pond, clean the pump filters and start the water running once again through the concrete frog at the end of the tubing. This task will require the donning of the neoprene waders and the Financier’s beat-up sneakers for the water is still quite cold and the rocks are slippery with algae and moss.
Yes, I have fallen down into the depths, several times. But it must be done, this cold and slimy job, for it is time. I can hear the frogs singing their *Spring is here!* song from the creek down the continuing sloping land across the street. It is a happy chorus and a signal, along with the leafing out of trees and shrubs and blooming of seasonal markers such as Forsythia and grape hyacinths. Early, late or right on schedule, there is no stopping it. The frogs know.