Been thinking about frogs lately.
There's one, yet unseen, that has been somewhere in the vicinity of the northwest corner
of the yard all summer long.
He's still there, singing a lonely song
as the cool creeps in.
No one joined him, or at least if they did
they didn't sing--or at the same moment anyway
and my ear is not acute enough to tell the difference.
And then the gentle man who helps me do handy work
found a sole turtle in my back yard yesterday.
Also in the northwest yard quadrant, but in a different part
like the difference between Seattle and Portland.
Over by the woodpile.
'About the size of a softball', he said.
He couldn't get in touch with me, so he brought the turtle home with him,
gave him an apple slice and some water.
Today Ramon is taking the turtle to the Humane Society to see if they know what kind
he is and what we should do with him.
If he's native, I want him back in my yard, where he choose to be
even if he is the one eating the low lying tomatoes after they ripen
I want him back.
If he's not and someone thought their children might love him but then decided that
no one loved him
I hope the good folks at the Society can find him a warm home before
the frosts come and entomb him in his protection.
Why do I think these lonely creatures are he?
Why am I writing about frogs when the prompt is fog?
Maybe the frog and turtle were looking for each other and maybe they found each other
and the turtle was doing her best to sing like a frog and the frog was doing his best to
move at the turtle's pace.
And that's why I heard one voice, in the same place, for four months.
And then the turtle showed her face.
Maybe I should ask Ramon to bring her back or at least take the frog with him to the Society to join
the turtle.
What the hell do I know about love? It's all very foggy.
frog thinking about love
This is an offering for this week's One Single Impression prompt: fog. Visit here for a plethora of great stuff on the topic at hand. Thanks to Sweetest in the Gale for this week's prompt.