Good morning!
It’s Wednesday. Not too far from yesterday’s ephemeral mud puddle is an actual freshwater pond. No, not the pond (that’s a lake, that’s a pond) but a much smaller pond that our neighbors made at some point in the last, oh I don’t know, 40 years?
You can’t see the pond from the road or from our house. I don’t think it’s even big enough for a stray goose to make an emergency landing.
But every spring this pond hosts the most magical guest of them all: the spring peepers!
Hit the sideways arrow on the audio player at the top of this email, and you’ll be transported to the back porch. It’s dusk, and the serenade is just getting started. If you listen very closely and you’ll also hear the faraway arpeggio of a hermit thrush—the first I’ve heard this year.
“With the coming of spring, I am calm again."
—Gustav Mahler
Onwards,
Clara
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