Frogs in the evening
sing of cool rains
and sunny skies.
Memories of tomorrow’s promises.
The tadpoles are getting bigger, and respond now when a shadow passes overhead. Naturally more aware, or have they now experienced loss? Do they know fear?
Do they know joy, as they rest on the slowly skeletonizing chestnut leaves?
Do they anticipate the changes, understand the twitching, itching — there, just under the skin — do they know that legs and toes are on the way?
Do they know?
Do they need to know?