The Peeping Proclamation

 They pronounce a

peep…

peep…

that protrudes through the canopy

into the night

to proclaim that spring is here.

 

Yet they know not of seasons,

their proclamation is merely part of their life history,

naturally selected into their mind over millions of springs.

Often, the peeping proclamation is paralleled

with a collection of choruses and croaks

 

In their ephemeral eutopias

they are enlightened,

not by the glittering galaxies they peep beneath

or the forests from which they emerge when weather warms winter into spring;

not by determination of peeping all night,

and not even enough to shout

“everyone shut up I’m trying to concentrate,”

but only by the hope of attracting a mate.

 

Photographers, myself anyway,

creep around with headlamps and tripods,

hopelessly trying to accurately isolate a solitary peeping peeper

amongst an assemblage of amphibious acoustics.

Some peeps are distant, others near,

yet near may be far and far may be near

 

The problem solving peepers grip green vegetation

and cling to cambium clumps over water that once,

while frozen and white,

ceased to allow a peep of life.

 

Soon they’ll leave, some mate-less,

others pleased with their peeping,

and return to the flourishing forests of summer,

where they’ll wait, without a peep,

until the next ephemeral elixir concocts their peeping proclamation.