It's dark outside except for the pale glow of a fingernail moon sailing through the starry sea of night.
The wind has tucked itself to sleep with the birds, weary of bustling about and playing with my hair.
The whippet snuffles his way along the rabbit trails, delighted with this late night walk, white tail wagging in the air.
I wander down by the edge of the swamp, grass all soft and dewy 'neath my feet and spy the pallid uoow reflected upside down,
between the reeds along the creek.  
The constant, shrilling chorus of frogs and crickets drills my ears yet I find it strangely soothing -  a well known voice across the years.

I turn to walk back, whistling the dog and notice in the low fields,  the usual ethereal  fog begin to form.  
I look up at the dark shape of the house and see light from my
kitchen window painting squares upon the lawn.
Amphibean bodies seek the brightness, bellies pressed against the glass and if you warm them with your finger on the other side, they move.  
My man and I  bet kisses on whose frog would move the most -  one of those silly games you play when you're in love.
As I close the door behind me, grabbing logs to feed the fire, the dog flops down upon the hearthrug letting warmth dry swampy mire.
I make cocoa in my blue mug then pull down the kitchen blind - cutting off the froggy light source - abruptly silencing the choir.

Sunlight flares across the glass as her face stares out, eyes wreathed in wrinkles and slitted slightly, thin mouth drawn down in pain or bitterness or maybe disappointment.
Blue sky reflects in the faded pupils and silvery hair whispers like fairy floss above the pink scalp.  Pale blotchy skin creases and pleats itself over the bone structure.
She lifts a veined, liver spotted hand, knotty with arthritis, to her lips.
I study the outline of her face, looking for the young girl with long, glossy brown hair I remember. She of the thrown back throat, ready laugh and warm smile.
The passionate one - forgiving quickly because she loved much and was loved in return.
She's survived her husband by many lonely years.  
Ah, wait! - there's the dimple hidden in the folded skin.  
Time stands still as we search each other's eyes, looking for a connection until I notice a tear sliding down along her nose.
I turn away from the mirror.

Rumbling and grumbling, with colours a’scumbling,
clouds carry rain over expectant land.
Stopping and dropping, tall mountains a’topping,
they empty their bounty from God’s mighty Hand.
Roaring and soaring with rich foam outpouring
there thunders the waterfall over its ledge.
Swishing and splashing with sun sparkles flashing,
the ocean deposits its lacy white edge
Murmuring, mumbling, smooth rocks a’tumbling
carries the river its flood tide away.
Gabbling, babbling, bubbles a’burbling
hurries the brook down its liquid highway.

Gushing or trickling with nostrils a-prickling,
we let out our sorrow in tears of release.
Wearing those guises, earth’s water surprises,
by vanquishing dryness and offering ease.