It has been raining for several days, cool and dreary, but it means the low spot behind my tent platform has standing water in it. Now, I do realize that mean mosquitoes, but it also mean frogs. As night slowly creeps through the now leaf covered trees, water dripping off everything sets a soft random beat. Suddenly, through the damp air comes one lone pipping squeak. Then, a moment later, one more. A few more enterprising young frogs make their presents known, until it seems the whole woods is filled with chorusing frogs, looking for mates. A twig cracks somewhere close by and a deafening silence engulfs me. What frog predator is out there walking through the dark, carelessly snapping twigs? Silence stretches for many long minutes, a single bird calls out a few notes and fades off, the sound swallowed by the wet dark forest. Soon the frogs start up again, and I drift off to sleep.