Wet rain of monsoon awakens the mating habits of frogs. Frogs live in tropical rain forests filled with bugs; millipedes, big buzzing bees, butterflies. Mangroves of the mimosa, coconut palms and bananas reach their huge hanging leaves to guard blood red buds. They remain ready to make delicious cereal toppings. Pancake filling, split making bananas. The flowers; geraniums of pink, yellow, orange, red and white, are the bushes of warmth bouncing on the grass beyond the beach. Blue and orange gumdrops pop out of the turf, holding shadows like a poker hand. Primrose climbs girls named Gretchen that wear long white opera gloves.

Natural wonder with waterfalls splashing a song.

When it rains, the frogs sing a sound of harmonious answer toward one another croak. Their celebration of wet rain soothes salt skin and gives the sea a breath. They reduce to their adolescence as tadpoles. An amphibian nightclub where I slept under a mosquito net in a bamboo hut that is no more, remains. Those frogs, filling their throats with air to produce sounds of mating woo, or, maybe it’s just a song to celebrate a hard day without rain make me proud.

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