Loud chirping surrounds the house.It is hard to concentrate on anything else,While the wood frogs and peepers are calling.Silently, I put down my book, and slide away from my chair.I lean out of the window, seeing nothing,But feeling something in the air.The stars are shining brightly.I cannot see the tiny creatures,But their voices are calling, calling,Begging to be heard.Suddenly, I am through the windowAnd into the night.Sitting on the porch roof,Letting the chirps and peeps envelop me.The tiny animals of the swamp are calling, calling,We are alive.