By Carol

Before dusk on a warm April evening I made the steep, short climb to the top of Mosquito Mountain, in Frankfort, Maine. There is an old quarry there, almost completely surrounded by steep granite ledge, rising 50 feet and more. The basin is full of water, and the ledges lined with small poplar and other softwoods, still bare in April. As I approached the quarry, I heard a shrill echo. Cresting the granite rise, I could hear uncountable numbers of peepers. Their calls echoed off the water and granite walls of the quarry, warm from the day’s sun and undisturbed by the faint breeze. No leaves rustling, no sound but the peepers. I actually called a friend with my cellphone and held up the phone so he could hear the moment. No pictures. The enormity of the moment – the sound – is still with me

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Posted: Sunday, April 10th, 2011

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