I might be making much more of this than there really is. But…for two years, between one and three in the morning, I have listened to the singing frogs. They don’t croak or ribbet – they sing; they sound like tiny mockingbirds. I have never seen one. I have never seen a singing frog in the two years we lived in the house at the end of Holly Lane.
We were packing up to leave the lovely home in Texas. It would be the last time I would stand in the smooth curved driveway, which warmed and soothed my feet when I would walk out in the morning to water the roses and feed the feral cats. It started out just two cats, then became three, and the final addition was a bull terrier.
It was a quarter to one in the morning. The night seemed more purple than just dark. Maybe it’s because the clouds draped lace over the moon as they crawled across the sky. The post lamp was standing guard at the edge of the driveway. The light in the garage was on, and the porchlight was on. We were making trips from the truck to the garage, from the garage to the truck carrying boxes, and chairs, and books, and plants.
Nick was just getting ready to close the rear door of the Uhaul, when it appeared. A wee frog, just a little bigger than my thumb, hopped across the driveway right up to me within a foot of my shoe. I smiled. I knew he was one of the singing frogs.
I took two small items into the garage; the frog followed me. I walked back out to the truck; and he hopped behind me. Then stood in front of me…and I swear was looking up at me. We did this dance at least twice.
I was hoping he would sing, but he didn’t. A song would have been most welcome at this dark and uncertain time. I didn’t feel like singing. Perhaps neither did he. Finally, we closed the garage door. The frog hopped across the porch and settled into the brick enclosed planter where the Mexican Bird of Paradise was swaying it’s goodbye, and two geckos were waiting on the wall.
I settled into the truck, waved, and we started down the driveway, for the last time. Two years of my life I greeted geckos, listened to the song of the frogs, and waged a silent war with mosquitos.
I looked back and the little frog had hopped to the brick edging and was still sitting and, I think, watching as the tail lights got smaller and smaller. It was just a frog. To me, it was my midnight serenader who came to say farewell.
Just a little over an hour driving, we were exhausted. I saw the welcoming Best Western sign, and we stopped. I waited while my husband made sure there was vacancy.
He walked back smiling. The clouds had passed and the moon created a velvet evening. We took our bags from the back and went into the hotel.
Sitting at the doorway was a frog, who looked much like the one we had just left. He didn’t even move when we entered.
It was almost 2:30 in the morning. We pulled the covers up, turned off the lamps, and I heard the gentle sound of a tiny mockingbird.
Perhaps there will be a new song for me.