Only one starts.
He seems to break the silence with his loud, inharmonious note
as if the placid stillness of the pond is the stage for his performance.
Loud, shattering the quiet.
But his baritone belch is not met by disapproval.
Instead, his manifest confidence seems to lurch other slimy waders to call out into the darkening sky
with their equally loud throat bull horns.
Within a dozen seconds, the multitude of male chorus amphibians
bounce their countless croaks about,
calling to the listening females to join them in a spring rendezvous.
The once loud croak is now masked in the song of the many.
And I think of that one:
the courage of one.
It takes one to think his voice worth hearing,
one to break the silence and stillness of a comfortable place.
While the others,
wanting to same, but silent,
where we write for just five minutes.
(Sorry that there are pictures of ducks in a story about frogs,
but I haven't gotten any frog pictures;
I suppose they've all been sleeping in consequence to their late nights).