“In the morning, we wake to rain playing the roof tiles like piano keys. I mosey out of bed if only to open the window, welcome the earthsmell to wash the room clean. Outside, the creek trips over itself with abundance. How full without tipping. The frogs, a chorus of splashing, singing, sqwuaking. Their throats gurgle and puff. We lay in bed and picture it, this green dance between the cattail reeds. A sweet, small life of mud and rainsong.”
— Schuyler Peck, (Safe Place Series 02)





















