Barking tree frog stealthily makes its way up the shady north face
of the mossy brownstone boulder,
hiding in plain sight on the flanks of its mid-stream retreat,
until the swaying branches of the dense overhead canopy
part to admit the golden rays of the early morning sun.
Exposed for one brief moment, then shifting again to the shadows,
camouflaged so well as to play momentary landing pad to a passing arthropod,
just out of tongue's reach on tree frog's dark-dotted dorsum.
No raindrops this morning, but they're on the way...
perhaps as soon as tonight.
And down with the rains come the others,
down the trunks and the branches and the vines,
to gather and sing by the pool,
perchance a mate to entice.
'Til then, however,
it's time to hop a limb and climb,
back to the darkness of the leaf-shrouded heights,
where we'll while away the hours
with dreams of love and rainy nights.