Image used by permission from Mike Benard’s Frog Call website
There’s something magical about the song of the spring peepers. When I hear them, I know that after a long winter, spring is arriving. Usually we first hear them when we’re driving on a chilly spring evening. We’ll still have the heat on in the car but we’ll roll the windows down. “There they are!” we’ll call as we hear them singing. (I even call out if I’m alone in the car. A joyous reflex–“Oh! Listen to the peepers!”) We speed by their conversations in our car, shivering in the chilly breeze, eavesdropping on a few highlights from a variety of vocal communities. You can’t help but smile when you hear the peepers.
Maine poet, Carl Little, also enjoys the wonders of spring peepers. This is the end of his poem Zones of Peeper. I love the image of those tiny frogs flinging their music about with such abandon and I know firsthand about the joy their song inspires.
Zones of Peeper, Carl Little
... not synthesized but a perfect
cacophony of the higher ranges, tiny frogs doing their spring thing, flinging music into dank milieu of pond edge and marsh, inspiring
a certain joy in our recap of the evening as if every fault could be forgiven when you consider the rest of the world wild and wet and flipping out.
One of my first graders also knows the value of specific language and the wonder of the peepers. Here is her recent first draft of a poem, prior to working with line breaks:
What a wonderful final line:” The peepers sing a lullaby to the fish.”
Spring peepers–hope, inspiration, and sheer poetry!
Pop over to Violet Nesdoly’s blog for more poetry today. Thanks for hosting Poetry Friday Roundup, Violet!