||Somewhere just before dark, I sit on my new front steps with a low-grade import
beer that I don’t actually want much and listen to the frogs across the street.
I want to hear the frogs quite a bit more than I want the beer. They’ve been
noisy every night since I moved in, a jarring reminder of the organic world
that I have been ignoring while looking at screens for so long. Later, writing
this at the kitchen counter with the front door cracked and the heat leaking
out into the mid-April night time chill, I can still hear them.