Friday night. 8 p.m. 57 degrees. At the bus depot waiting for Mrs M to get in. Parked facing into the cattail marsh at the edge of the lot. Windows down to let in the cool but fresh breeze. Across the marsh and through the trees can see the lights of cars and trucks coming down the exit ramp from the Thruway but I can’t hear them. They’re drowned out by the peepers singing with mad joy in the marsh. How many peepers can one marsh accommodate? However many this one is home to, it’s enough to fill the night.
Then the bus pulls in.