Little miracles

Earlier this year, when my father was still contemplating the move here to await his inevitable end, he bemoaned the fact that Mr. Frog had died the previous winter. "We'll have to go and get a frog when I am there," he said back then.

Every day, before and after my father's passing, I would walk by the tiny pond in our front yard, wishing for a frog to show up, especially while my dad was still mobile and might see it. We did get a toad, the news of which made my father smile, but still no frog.

"No more frogs will come," my husband declared, noting that, if one should show up, we'd have to figure out what to do with it come winter so that it didn't go the same way as poor Mr. Frog.

Well, lo and behold, today, as I walked outside in the heat of the afternoon I noticed ANOTHER FROG!! Happily treading water in our tiny pond! This time, I won't let the poor creature spend the winter in that killing pond but we have time to figure out what to do.

In the meantime, I wish I could call my dad over so he could see it, although something tells me that this is all very much his doing.