In the evening, when passing by the Civic Square, I heard a sound of frogs. "Quack - quack - quack" sounded, and there was a response, and the sounds were in harmony with each other.

Approach the wooden bridge. The bridge curves into a crescent moon and spans diagonally across the river. The street lamps far and near emit soft light, and the cobblestone paths are graceful and picturesque. The frogs lurk here, as if they are having a night concert, rising and falling like waves.

There was a sudden drumming of frogs in my ears, but my heart flew to my hometown.

It is a seaside village with beautiful scenery all year round. In the hot summer, the adults are sweating in the fields, and we play freely and go wherever we want.

Frogs are also loyal companions. From the small black dots in spring to the lean green bodies in summer, from ponds to rivers, both silent and joyful, they are all beautiful scenery. We hunkered down and followed their footsteps. Unknowingly, I spent spring and summer.

On rainy days, frogs are extremely active.

Frogs are the messengers of thunder. As the saying goes, "When frogs croak, rain comes." They cry and sing enthusiastically to welcome the arrival of rain with their high-pitched songs. The cool rain splashed on the earth, rushing, rushing, and seemed to harmonize with the sound of frogs. I have run barefoot on rainy days many times, and from time to time a few frogs passed by my feet. Croak, croak, they quickly drew shallow arcs in the grass, and in a blink of an eye, they got into the pond.

Ponds are not monotonous. The edges are covered with taro and splendens, and there are duckweed and lotus inside. Taro leaves and lotus leaves are large and round, becoming a happy haven for frogs on rainy days. Under the green leaves, green frogs, what a harmonious picture!

After the shower, the sky and earth are fresh and fresh, and the wind carries the fragrance of vegetation. The water plants lurking at the bottom of the pond surge upward, and the dense duckweeds gently ripple with the water flow. The entire pond is like a huge face, covered with countless moving mouths. As for the frog, he is full of energy after taking a rest in the rain. They stared, opened their mouths, and started a concert. " -" 可- "Singing vigorously. There is also a dynamic insect-catching performance. The four legs are tight, locking the target and attacking at any time. After catching the food, he let out a "croak" of satisfaction, his cheeks bulging, and his soft belly also trembled. Those sounds are intertwined, sometimes long, sometimes short, and endless. When we listen to it too much, we will put our tongue against the roof of our mouth and imitate frog calls. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I practice, my voice seems weak.

I also saw a small gray frog in the sunset, which is said to be a frog. They were so small, only as big as my thumb. The whole body is earthy gray, mixed in the soil, and you can't tell it at all unless you look closely. I lay on the side of the road, watching them jump little by little under the afterglow of the setting sun. It doesn't even call out, it just jumps around in a muffled voice, much like the splashes of mud that keep falling.

When the frog is imprisoned, it will make a sad and helpless cry. My father once caught more than half a bag of frogs. Through the tightly tied bag, what we heard was not a "croak" sound, but a cooing sound. At that time, adults seemed to regard frogs as food in the fields and could be bought and sold freely. But we feel bad! I couldn't bear to see those bloody scenes, so I dragged my father to prevent him from hurting the frogs again. The father couldn't resist and finally gave up the half bag of frogs.

Later, my father started raising bullfrogs. The sides and top of the pond are covered with netting, and combined with lighting, the appropriate environment can be controlled. My father got up early and worked hard in the dark, even in thunderstorms, trying to dig up earthworms for them to eat. Bullfrogs live a comfortable life and often sing in groups. The voice was low and loud, like a cow braying. That year, bullfrogs had a bumper harvest.

Xin Qiji once wrote, "The fragrance of rice flowers speaks of a good year, and I can hear the sound of frogs." Although rice is not grown in his hometown, there are abundant waters, and the sounds of frogs are heard one after another. Generations of ancestors have been attached to it, hurt it, and finally chose to cherish them. Frog is the patron saint of farmland. Children have always loved seeing them jumping freely and lightly and listening to them singing with full enthusiasm.

No matter how old you get, you are always willing to listen to the good things. The sound of frogs is undoubtedly the most authentic sound of nature!