Monsoon season officially began on Sunday, as measured by average dew point. But for us it started in earnest yesterday afternoon. A fierce wind picked up out of the east, then the rain hit--the proverbial torrential downpour, causing near whiteout conditions at times, soaking the ground and pooling and running in mini-rivers, or rivulets, if you prefer.
Then, at dusk, a single spadefoot sounded.
By bedtime, there was a chorus of them, hundreds if not thousands calling in their unique sheep-cow-duck bleat. They come out of deep burrows only this time of year, sing out for mates, do the deed, breed new spadefoots, and then tunnel back in until next year's monsoon. It's like a thousand tiny Frankie-and-Annettes crooning on the beaches of transient puddles, looking for their summer loves.
There's no sound like it in the world, and no better way to drift off to sleep than listening to them.