In this chapter of the Kegonsa Diary, we chronicle the toad raid.
First, we must set the scene.
Our campsite was covered with a massive boat tarp, suspended by ropes attached to the trees surrounding the site. Our tent, screen tent, the fire ring and ample open space were protected from all but the most severe weather. (We refer to the process of selecting campsites with suitable trees and roping up a shelter as "tarpology".) The tarp was high enough to be safe from the campfire, so during a thunderstorm, we were able to sit outside by the fire. Just such a storm occurred during our first evening on the site.
TOAD RAID is an eyewitness account of nature in the raw,...
...wait for it...,
...warts and all.
Let us begin with some appropriate music:
Under the tarp we are safe and dry.
The fire dances undisturbed.
It's glow resumes after each blast of lightning.
Golden eyes glow in the underbrush.
Just beyond the tarp's edge,
the rain brings up worms.
She charges out, grim and bumpy.
Her throat pumps with passion.
She pauses, chin high, stern.
Her awful hunger ravens down the helpless wriggler.
In the lightning, she hunts.
In the rain she stalks.
In the darkness she waits.
Serene in her granular loveliness,
She keeps her sorrows close.