We returned the frog to its ordinary life and went on through the low-lying edges of the neighborhood. Raven squealed at gusts of wind and Rhamnetin squealed back. We nibbled on early dandelions and said hello to dogs (that did not say hello back) and checked drains and trenches and rain gardens. Everything smelled wet and ready to bloom, and talking with Rhamnetin felt easy and hard all at once. I put an arm around Carol’s waist. That touch, something I could take for granted and still be grateful for, was a slim but much-needed anchor.
