Three young ferns rise from the middle
of a patch of grass I planted this spring.
Not wanting them to spread, I go to pull them.
But there, a toad is nestled in the grass
taking the curly fronds as shelter from
predators and rain, looking up at me
through his gold-lidded eye, a toad smile
spread across his face. I greet him.
He lets me take his picture, pet his back.
I left the ferns. I’ll pull them on another day.