Yesterday, I almost mowed over a toad.
It was early morning . . .
still the cool of the day.
By the time I got the mower started
the humid heat onslaught had begun.
So now, the task was at hand -
normally a twenty-one minute job
but today I aimed
for eighteen.
It was so hot that I skipped
stopping at the duckweed-covered
garden pond, replete with its little stream
gurgling over rocks along the edge.
A springtime home to many creatures,
one of which is always
a pair of toads.
Normally, not much attention is given them except
to enjoy their soothing evening calls or
to pause and try to spot them among the perennials
before they
plop into the safety of their pond.
Mowing around a corner of an organic bed
of garden vegetables, something moved!
Tiny it was and
hugely struggling through the long grass.
The mowing stopped and I cut
the engine with its whirling blades . . .
Then, two more diminutive strugglers emerged.
Kneeling, to peer into the grass
where the motion had been, I saw
their bejeweled eyes and lumpy skin.
The baby toads were so still and trusting -
I imagined they knew I would
cause them no harm.
I remembered a child, long ago
holding a toad up close and thinking -
those eyes are the most beautiful things in the world.
Still they are . . . except for
the dark brown eyes
of my sweetheart.
Elizabeth,
I love you so much!
Clem
(Written the day before our Wedding Anniversary)
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