My basil seedlings
Lie askew
Their spindly thread-like stems
White against the moist black earth
Dislodged
Disturbed
By something.
The stick I poke into the pot
Grazes
A speckled yellowish mound.
Some kind of fungus?
Warily I brush away more earth.
Suddenly
Two great dark hooded eyes
Are blinking in the light.
A golden toad sits there
Surprised as I
Throat softly pulsing.
He slowly lifts a leg
And then
moves off.
Erika Bizzarri 
Wonderful little gem!
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Erika Love this —inspired to try your brief form on similar encounters with nature. The simple way you taken the reader with you into the mystery of the pot and the surprise of the frog! J
Sent from my iPhone
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I love this encounter brought to life by your patient, sensitive observation as recorded in the written word, in your art, and in your voice. Brava!
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Was this frog encounter at the villa or on your patio in town? I love the verbal image and the drawing!
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Erika, you are a poet!!!
A little bit longer than an haiku, but equally efficacious!!!
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