Frogging in the Last Days of Summer

The crik-crik-crik of the Malabar gliding frog fills the still air of the Forestry College Horticulture Garden. We skirt around the pond in our pyjamas, the dogs sniffing busily at our heels, taking care to not startle any snake that might be out on the hunt. Up ahead is a palm with lovely arching fronds.…

Catwalk Under the Stars

The kuk-kuk-kuk of the swamphen carves through the otherwise-silent night. The Phragmites rustles in the gentle breeze, creaking like old wooden stairs. We pad along the bundt, silent as panthers, flashlights off, Subas da in the lead. Himaja yawns, already bored before the watch has begun. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the lack of light;…

Birds on the Brain: Green Imperial Pigeon

Dry leaves crunch beneath my sandals as I swerve to narrowly avoid the prickly bladed fronds of Pinanga dicksonii, a plant that frequently impedes my expeditions into Myristica swamps. A spine snags my shift regardless, nipping my skin through the woven material, and I yelp irritably. The loud 'trrrrrick' of the Indian bullfrog echoes through…