On a Dark Spring Night

Walking on rain soaked roads
Pebbles shining white,
Like scattered pocketfuls of nickels and dimes
But no moonlight to explain the glow.

Hearing frogs in the distance
Their first croaks of the season, of the year.

Reaching the lonely stretch of highway
So quiet I can walk on the yellow centre line
Without a care.

Standing at the centre of the crossroads
Listening to the frogs, the rain dripping off the trees,
The occasional distant traffic.

The swoosh of a truck on the wet road draws nearer,
And I turn around and walk home.