mound city
The road is slick with smashed frogs. I've never seen anything like it, hundreds of them and more hopping into the road. The car fishtails and slides on all four tires, worse than ice. Wheee! says Jack. What are they looking for? Water on the other side, in a dry summer not dry enough to kill them? They hop on the hood, across the windshield, from nowhere it seems, the low grass at the shoulder. Damn. A frog slick, finally, it dries up then wears down to pavement again. Later, I see, sprays of frog guts spread up the fenders. Still, we didn't kill them all.
move on...