Yesterday Mr. Mike and The Boss-lady both reported hearing wood frogs. I have yet to hear their gentle "quacking" in forest or fen, so last night Toby and I took our two-mile walk down past a small ephemeral pool along the edge of the golf course. I saw some bubbles and ripples of movement, but heard not a whisper of a frog. Disappointed, but not surprised (afterall, I could see my breath and the spitting rain was fat enough that it could almost pass for snow), we continued down to the Hudson, gazed at the water, turned around, and headed back homeward. As we neared the little pool on our second pass, however, an unmistakable amphibian chorus wafted through the air: peep, peep, preeeeeep! Spring Peepers!!! Hardy little souls, braving the near-freezing air to sing for love.
This morning in was snowing in earnest. Big, fat flakes whirling about in furious storm. The mini-blizzard only lasted a very few minutes, but even so, snow is snow. Spring is full of weather contradictions.