Spring

I drove to a local pond today, intending to practice my casting.     As I entered the parking lot I could see that the pond was a smooth as silk, and the marsh across from it was absolutely still.   Not a breeze, not a bird, not a ripple.    But when I opened the door, I was battered with sound that drowned out even my own thoughts.    A cacophony of frogs and insects, unbelievably loud and insistent.    I stood for nearly an hour trying to catch a glimpse of the musicians, but never saw a single one.   A woodchuck surprised himself when he jumped out of his hole to find me there, but the frogs and bugs were all hidden.  I was sorry I couldn't recognize them by their sound, but all I could tell was that there were deep rumbles and choruses of higher squeals and chirps.    I listened until the feeling flooded my whole being, and I forgot to take out my fishing rod.    Maybe tomorrow.