How I found Chauncey

The Saturday when Danka and Kuba got married was one of the last really hot days.
Consequently my lunch took a slightly Elvish form
of walking silently among the trees and marshes.
They were both worth the walk, no mistake,
the air was fresh and wet,
the sun just about dazzling but not to the point of tiring my eyes,
everybody else was feasting in the manor
and as to the golf players - I didn't give a damn whether they think I went mad, to stroll through bog and briar in a gothic dress, singing in all the languages I knew...
I didn't care and my brain appreciated the change.

I took some photographs, too,
even though a good half of them came out blurred due to recurring midge attacks.

Some of them appear on my picasa.

But not all.

There was one quite peculiar encounter towards the end of my walk.
First I saw the tree.

And if it hadn't been for my borrowed dress plus the exemplary swamp with runway upon runway of stamping mosquitoes but some 2 metres to the left, I would have tried to climb to the invitingly mossy seat and fallen asleep there.

Good that I didn't.

The place was already occupied.

'Yé! utúvienyes!! I have found him!'

It was Chauncey.

To say I wasn't surprised would be a lie - how many times have you found a toad one metre above ground, resting between two branches?

Yet I wasn't too surprised either.
I have seen this happen in my dreams.