It had been raining all day—and it almost never rains all day in Colorado. I was house sitting for my brother, and it was time to go out and feed the horses. I knew I would end up soaked and cold, so I kept putting it off, hoping for a window of clearer skies. No such luck.
Eventually, I put on a pair of my brother’s work boots, and sloshed out into the yard. My feet moved around inside the oversized boots which shifted beneath me in the mud. I threw out a silent wish not to end up flat on my back.
The horses were huddled under the shelter, glaring as horses do when you’re late to feed and it’s raining. They snorted as if to say, “This one again.”
As I waded out to the barn, I heard a strange sound, and I stopped to listen. It reminded me of the ever-present background hum-buzz-clatter of insects in the summer on the East Coast—but it wasn’t a hum exactly; it was closer to a cranking or the whine of a dilapidated motor. And it was coming from everywhere.
What was it??
That’s when I realized: the toads were singing! In all this rain that never happens in Colorado, the toads had come out to celebrate. They were raising their scratchy little voices in a chorus of puddle wonder. The toads were happy—and something about this made me happy, too.