A beautiful very quiet and very verdant day around the pond today. The emerging leaves have just about obliterated the view of Overlook Mountain. The light breeze that was rippling the pond earlier has now ended and left the it a pool of black ink. Ferns and wild iris are beginning to line the bank. The frenzy of migration season has all but ended. A pair of ducks abandoned their flight north and are quietly raising a family in the tall grass at the back of the pond. Not so quiet, but somewhat subdued, is the goose family, which has returned but remains as far from the front yard as possible thanks to Shari and her bull horn. Abject terror in a goose is a thing to behold. Before long, however, the tree frogs will begin to warm up their evening song–well, some might say clamor–and the spell will be broken.
Things around the pond were not always this placid. In fact, until I cleared the land and we had it dug out, it was a fetid impenetrable swamp.For every tree frog we now have, I’d swear that 500 existed back then. Then the “evening song” had more decibel level of a train wreck. In fact, as I end this note, the first evening peeper has just finished its own note.



