Frog, Craigellachie Lochan, Aviemore
There is a day every year which marks Spring like no other. Suddenly, overnight, the lochan is heaving (literally) with frogs. Frogs are everywhere, in the pond, going to the pond from the surrounding marsh and bog, or returning exhausted from the pond, sprawled across the footpath around the loch. I sit for a while in a sheltered spot immersed in the vibration of a million frog-calls, miniature didgeridoo-sounds.
“A lake is a landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.”
“The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by geologists and antiquaries chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit — not a fossil earth, but a living earth.”
– Henry David Thoreau, ‘Walden’