It was early yesterday morning. There is a ritual to my morning and I was following my schedule as normal ... after dressing I sip enough coffee to take my morning pills then grab the hand sprayer to water the orchids. The driftwood orchid display out front, under the pygmy date palms needs sprayed every day to keep the thin moss covering over the roots just dampish. As I finished I noticed the pitcher plant hanging from the palm trunk needed pruning. I try to be a responsible steward of my garden, so I snatched up the hanging pot and brought it in to be cleaned up. The leaves at the top are from newer sprouts and are growing delicate little pitchers on each leaf tip. But, the older cascading branches have started to fade and in some cases grown wrinkled and browned. As I got to work on trimming the spent foliage, out of the middle of the pot flew a large glistening green tree frog ... SPLAT! ... onto the shelf at the end of the upper cabinets. I put down the scissors and stared, wondering how to return my kitchen to its prior frog-free state. I decided I would place a cup over it, slide my hand underneath and convey the intruder back to the wilds of my front garden as I would an errant wasp. The frog, however, didn't get the memo. As I reached to place the cup over him, he leapt backward ... and landed on the side of my neck ... I'm not sure, but I think I heard someone squealing "EEEWWWWW"!!! ... It might have been me ... Any way, the frog got the hint and jumped off to another cabinet from whence he was encouraged to return to the potted plant. He rode triumphantly on a cluster of leaves down the hall, out the door and into the garden. Before returning to the kitchen with the plant, I saw the frog off to a new leafy home. Neither of us looked the other in the eye, each somewhat embarrassed by our unexpected and unwanted intimacy.
|Photo: Rhizae via flickr|