Almanac For Moderns: Late In The Autumn
Late in the autumn, when the leaves of the buttonwood are turning deep as Burgundy and the cat-tails are ripening their silk, one little frog still sings his rather sad, metallic threnody. The sound, though small, is piercing, and for this reason he has been called the cricket frog. Cricket-like, he is but an inch and a half long, at the most, and he throws his voice with the ventriloquism of a Gryllus; it peeps and call from side to side of the boggy meadow; though I steal on footsteps that I would make as soft as a rabbit’s tread, silence surrounds me where I walk, mockery clinks out from behind me.
More information on our Almanac For Moderns project and the work of Donald Culross Peattie can be found here.