Here where I now live, I can listen to the rising chorus of tree frogs in the evening and occasionally during the day, when it is overcast and drizzling. Overcast and drizzling seems to cheer up the frogs no end and they can't seem to contain a few chirrups and chirps until, what I imagine, a little crowd of them get going and only stop when an older and wiser frog bustles in and shushes them up, "Wait until evening, a more appropriate time. A proper time for a chorus. No one is listening now. They are too busy working or blogging." This is what they say, it is true.

At any rate, it is near impossible to spot a frog. You could be walking along, and there, a chirrup. You stop, and get a sense of where that noise came from, which is difficult as they seem to be able to throw their sound in some kind of freaky parabolic way so you never know exactly where they are. And then you wait...

and wait...

and wait.

The frog waits for you to leave and you wait for the frog. The frog always wins.

BUT, hello, what's this in the yard? Nearly run over by a lawn mower, this dapper little creature, was spotted and had his picture taken. Umbrage! Good job the husband has keen eyes. He spotted another later on...or perhaps it was the same one, thinking he had made good his escape.

There is a beautiful Indian Plum growing outside my front door. I didn't know what it was when I moved in as it was not in leaf. Every morning (when I let the dog out) I have had the opportunity to watch it slowly come to life as the light levels change. This breaking dormancy does not tread a measured course. No, it surges and waits, plateaus and skips along. Now the buds swell and unfurl, but then a hiatus. Nothing seems to happen until a shift, something invisible I can not see, cajoles the blooms to unravel themselves and hang in pendents off the grey limbs. Leaves follow, slow to show, until in a hurry they unfurl their green sails in swept back surprise, perhaps shocked to see new people have moved in while they slept.

Here we are again with another full moon. I wish we used proper names for our moons- it is far more interesting to call a full moon in April, a "Full Fish Moon' or "Full Sprouting Grass Moon" instead of...well... a full moon in April.  It was made more spectacular for it happened during the Lunar Perigee, that is... when the Moon is closest to the Earth during its monthly orbit. So the Wow factor was huge for us here without clouds in the sky.

An evening walk along the beach was of soft pastels

and then, coming down the path...the moon, already a glowing golden lantern in the falling twilight.

We walked home and after supper, lit a fire in the garden...well, in the firepit...not in the garden.

And watched as the moonlight filled all the shadows with silvery light.

We watched Sirius, the Dog-Star, putting on a show of its own with amazing twinkles, flashes and sparkles.

The old name for a Bumble Bee was "The Humble Bee" for all its wonderful qualities.

"Me? No, oh no... I thank you for your compliments but I didn't do all this pollinating on my own in early spring in the cold wet rains. I had plenty of help from the other denizens of the forest, I assure you. I wouldn't say no to a little rest here though, if you don't mind holding still for ten minutes."

She says, as she creaks her bees knees and rubs a knot in her back.

It's okay Humble Bee. We know what you do and we salute you.