On a hot summer night, humid and sleepy, the pond and its surroundings resound with amphibian revelry. Marveling at the many tones and patterns, I sneak out with a torch to get a look at the members of the chorus. As I step close the chorus falls silent, and in the light a dozen pairs of accusing frog eyes stare at me. I beat a hasty retreat. It is embarrassing to interrupt an orgy.