Meandering along the margins of a small municipal pond, Hunter's eyes were drawn to the muddy shallows by a bevy of brilliant butterflies, then a perfect pair of papillon apparently mining minerals from the miry muck.
Allowing his eyes to linger, he spotted movement - another life, cooling it here in the sunlit mud. It took a moment, but soon it separated itself from the surrounding sameness and became a frog. A bumby, jumpy little northern cricket of a frog.
Do you see it?
There, just below and to the left of the leafy green weed in the center!
Once it wants to be seen, it's hard not to see it.
Then others appear. Brothers, sisters, a cousin perhaps?
The once-barren mud flats are becoming downright crowded...
Ah, here's yet another! Similar, but unique; sharing the mud on a Saturday morn...
Thanks, winged spirits, for opening our eyes to the beauty in the mud.
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