by Louisa Howerow
If he had been younger, he might have jumped over them and continued walking. If he had been in a hurry, he might have taken no notice of what was underfoot and crushed them. But he was neither young nor in a hurry.He took this walk daily—from his daughter's home, down the wetland trail to the pond, and back again—but he had never seen such a sight. At first he thought it was a green shawl dropped across his path, except that this shawl was moving.
Hundreds of frogs, each the size of his thumbnail, were emerging from the marshland on his r