Willows

by Camilla Jean Welsch

Hitherto, Bear had never heard frogs. Now he stood stock still, his hind legs slightly cocked, as if he were ready to spring. But knew not in which direction, for the grasses and brush that surrounded the double pond covered even the idea of any depth of water. And the croaks came from left and from right, almost echoing the fading evening before night.

I shifted my weight to my left hip, arms crossed as I watched my dog surveying the luscious green chandeliers of draping willows manifesting the glory of prehistoric creation by God.

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