Sing spring peepers

I heard the spring peepers tonight. Their chorus of cheerful voices quickens my heart and makes me smile. 

They chirruped as I biked through a segment of trail in Biron. I paused to take a video to capture the sound. But I was too close, and they quickly quieted. 

At the next marshy spot, they hushed as I neared, like high school gossipers, shushed into stillness. As soon as I passed, they erupted in sound, sensing that any danger had passed. 

They have nothing to fear from me. I have no desire to tramp through a swamp or even a puddle to get any closer. I’m content to listen to them from a dry spot. 

I also was pleased to see on my ride a painted turtle and a pair of Mallard ducks — a hen and drake — in a glorified drainage ditch. I also spotted a lone wild turkey across a field. More signs of spring. 

But none sing quite like the peepers, full-throated and joyful, a cacophony of musicality.