Night-walking with the dogs beside a remote Welsh lake, I was bemused to hear a noise like a generator running in the dark. Moving round the shore to find the source of the sound, I realised I was actually moving round the sound.

Torchlight on the water’s edge illuminated a mass of frogs, roiling between the stems of last year’s bulrushes.

So much rain has fallen, it’s hard to tell where the lake ends. Perhaps that distinction isn’t important; everything on this mossy land, including boundaries, are becoming fluid.

The frogs burble loudly, like an underground stream in full spate, and dive from the swinging torchlight in a concoction of shining heads and flashing legs.

They are not (that I know of) afraid that the future of whole living world is hanging in the balance just now. They’re fully present; fully engaged in making their ecstatic contribution to the web of life.

Tonight, this is what they are for.

All beings have particular gifts. Frogs, for example, can breathe through their skin, and jump 50 x their body length, and breathe through their skin. Humans, perhaps uniquely, can imagine Tomorrow . But collectively, we are not using this gift to ensure a healthy future.

Leaving the lake, I wonder: what if our todays were full of healthy, generative acts that contribute to the web of life? What kind of Tomorrow we might imagine into being?