Nary a ribbit is uttered, but the air is filled with the deep bass of a cello warming up, the plucking of rubberband guitars, squeaky dog toys, and lots of misses on the Operation surgery game. I never knew until we moved to East Carolina how many different frog languages there are.
Two week's worth of rain have left the land completely saturated: a frog's paradise. The locusts scream their song, while large, brown grasshoppers wing on the wind. Killdeer call from the edge of the cornfield. The hawk has returned to the pines and sends out its lonesome lyrics. The music is deafening to those who will hear.
"You crown the year with your bounty, and your carts overflow with abundance. The grasslands of the desert overflow; the hills are clothed with gladness. The meadows are covered with flocks and the valleys are mantled with grain; they shout for joy and sing." Psalm 65:11-13
No comments:
Post a Comment