A frog occupies the old plastic rain gauge by the gate. The rain gauge is a faded translucent yellow, cracked at a point where rain never reaches anyway, hung on a rusty nail and nearly forgotten. But something at the top opening of the gauge caught our attention one dusk while returning from a walk. The frog sat at the top, surveying the approaching night. During warm days he abandons the gauge and hides himself elsewhere, but on cooler days he sits at the bottom, relatively safe, dreaming of night and wondering if it will rain a little to make his new cell that much more comfortable.