Yesterday as I walked to my truck, the air was full of sound. A beautiful, deafening, trilling chorus. It caught me off guard, stopped in my tracks. Birds? No. Crickets? Too early. Oh! Peepers! Their song came from the direction of the creek across the road, calling to each other, calling to me, heralding spring. So I headed out the back way, toward old Route 66. Radio off, windows down. Every large ditch or small farm pond rang with the voices of hundreds of tiny, inch long frogs. No one was behind me, so I rolled slowly over the old creek bridge. Thousands of peeps upon peeps upon peeps. My breath was a sigh. I was so happy to hear spring at last.
