The gentle patter of the rain began in the early afternoon. It continues while the deeply sueded darkness eats the beams of my headlights as I make my way home.
Steamy fog rises, a flinging flash across the road, a white belly sails through the air just in front of me. Beligerant and proud, the silent toads gather to moon themselves on the warm tar in the night.
I cannot avoid them as I captain my 4000 pound rubber wheeled press of death down the road.
There is nothing to sense, no little bump to feel. I imagine the pressure giving way like a big fresh sugary mouth full of bubblegum and I suck in, an inverted bubble.
SPLOOCH. And nothing more. Careening around a curve in a low lying area, the massacre is revealed. There are hundreds, hundreds!
It was murder on the highway.
frogs, slaughtered, night time, rain
2 comments:
Ouch!...That brings a whole new meaning to the cliche "Feeling Froggy"?
That day there was a long line of frogs at the pearly gate. While waiting to get thru they were probably gabbing about the perfect weather and the big beautiful lillies floating around the most perfect pond they had ever seen, of course on the other side of the pearly gate.
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