Frogs

I collect frogs. I have stuffed toy frogs. A string of frog-shaped lights. A pair of wooden frogs holding a Welcome sign on my kitchen windowsill. A frog-shaped tea light holder. Etc. Etc. For my recent birthday, my mother sent me a pair of earrings, small works of art carefully crafted from copper and other metals. I laughed when I saw the tiny frog on each. She knows me so well.

The irony is that there are real frogs only yards from my back door. Loud, hidden frogs that taunt me with their raucousness at all hours from their secret hideaways in the crevices of the deck. I would cheerfully feed every one of them to any available predator just to have some peace in the quiet hours of the night.