Just the mention of a frog brings back memories. For a few years, I lived near Seattle, and my apartment was near a pond. I had planted sweet peas on my second floor balcony and was rewarded by a beautiful, full plant that climbed all the way to the top of the roof. Little frogs somehow found their way onto my balcony and would sit in the leaves of the sweet pea and sing me to sleep every night. When I moved here to NY, I found that I couldn't get to sleep. I spent many hours trying to find a sound file of frogs on the Internet so that I could loop the sounds together and play them at night. This was 10 years ago, long before the great sound machines on sale at department stores, and definitely before napster or any convenient file sharing program. I ended up e-mailing a gentleman in Japan, of all places, who ran a frog website. He sent me a link that yielded success and he wrote a very sweet note that simply said, "may you find the peace of sound from your homeland." I think that's a wish we all could make.
Tonight, after a horrible thunderstorm, there was a beautiful rainbow right outside my window, the fireflies making up for the gloom by putting on their neon show, and as I went outside to get the laundry, I came face to face with my first raccoon. Now, I'm sitting here realizing that I really have no one with which to share such wonderful wildlife events. Someone who will listen, wide eyed, as I tell them all about it. Someone who isn't formulating their next sentence while I'm talking, who will actually listen. My husband is a lost cause, his eyes glued to the television. When he turns his head as I speak, his eyes remain on the set. My friends interrupt me, not interested, and change the subject once again to their kids. The world outside is my child, but no one wants to hear. No one wants to listen.