Dear Tree Frogs,

I can't remember when you disappeared.

It must have been back in April after you made your inaugural 2023 appearance. For a few glorious nights your gentle song descended upon me like a thousand birds coming to lift me up to a chiffon cloud filled with glittering moonbeams. Floating in through the open window, it was the dream before the dream. I never tired of it.

And then just like that, you were gone.

####

You are going to love this story.

I was walking one day as I am wont to do and as I neared the end of our street, I felt something on my lower leg between my shin and calf muscle—a weird wet flarp.

I looked down only to see my attacker politely hopping away: a nice little frog. (Frog or toad? I can never tell. My apologies, although I think humans care more about those sorts of designations than frogs or toads.) I immediately dubbed him Warrior Frog.

I'm not often accosted on my daily constitutional, particularly by wild life, so the surprise assault shocked me, but in a good way. I was proud of Warrior Frog and fancied him half-heartedly hopping into the Frog Bar and bellying up for a Fly Tai with his head hung low.

"Didn't get 'er," he'd croak apologetically.

"Didn’t get her?" would be the word from an incredulous mate. "What do you mean? You nailed her full on!"

"That’s right!" would chime in another. “You damn near killed that monstrous She-Beast.”

"Flarped her proper, you did!" would say yet another as Warrior Frog inflated with reconsideration.

The chorus would continue, crescendoing until it reached a roaring cheer. Then all the regulars at the Frog Bar would lift Warrior Frog on high and parade him through the retention pond amid enthusiastic croaks and ribits.

So it went in my imagination, while in reality, I just schlepped onward upon my mundane path and a slightly stunned frog hopped away to an equally boring aftermath.

But you get my drift, right? I know that guy was a lot bigger than you and your buddies, but that doesn’t mean you can’t strive for that level of activism.

You and I have a lot in common. We're small, but we don't take any shit. We just keep going, no matter what the mother effers throw at us. I may have been Warrior Frog's enemy that day, or every day for that matter, but that doesn't mean I don't respect him. I do.

But you? The way I feel about you goes way beyond respect.

After you left, I waited for you every night.

It surely wasn't the first time you went away. You've gone on your walkabouts now and again. But then a couple of days turned into a week. One week turned into two, then three …

At first I just noticed you were gone: hmmmm … where are the tree frogs? Pretty soon, the time I spent peering out the window over the bed got longer and longer. I’d strain to hear a sound, any sound. And then, Tree Frogs, I did hear something, until I didn't.

Your song is such an inherent part of the night that I started to hear what I came to regard as the phantom tree frogs. My brain conjured the familiar chirping chorus. It was so convincing as I lay waiting for the ol’ Sandman that I'd rouse myself back up to the window to verify the ghostly sounds, only to be met with a dead silence that was so disheartening it was downright disturbing.

So it went. I kept thinking I had to write you a letter and let you know how I missed you way more than I ever thought was possible, how I depended upon you, and how you were a bigger part of my life than I ever realized.

Maybe you were lined up at the Frog Bar, sipping on a Swirlie Temple and trying to be really quiet while you listened to the big frogs talk about the endless Human War and who was out there trying to bravely take out enormous lumbering She-Beasts. Maybe your refusal to amp up the nightly chirping was your way to pledge solidarity in the ongoing battle of Humans vs. Amphibians.

I have no idea, but your painful absence went on and on. No tree frog song orchestrated my nightly journey to slumber. Instead only manmade sounds pierced the night: a spate of firecrackers, a motorcycle fiercely accelerating far and away, muted music from a neighborhood party. It was so sad.

I sulked and poked around the Internet looking for some scientific answer, but I was either just plain afraid of what I’d find, or it didn’t matter to me. I mean, of course it matters, but I just missed you and wanted you back. I wanted your song and the way it tethered my ears to this earth.

June disintegrated into July, no tree frogs.

July 3rd unfurled in a predictable way. As night fell, the big BOOM BOOM BOOMs announcing the forthcoming holiday were, well, booming outside my window. The far-off traffic seemed louder, the humidity more oppressive.

And then like the voice of a hero reborn, I heard a funny creaking croak. Then another and another. Pretty soon, the chorus was in full song, completely oblivious to the insufferable firecrackers and M80s.

Warrior Frogs indeed.

The relief I felt was almost comical, like when Dorothy wakes up at the end of The Wizard of Oz and finds Auntie Em & all the hands gathered around her.

“You’re all here!” she exclaims.

I felt the same sort of excitement, however muted. That tiny thrill rolled through me, like when something you take for granted disappears and finally reappears. But unlike spotting a wayward set of keys on the floor, your re-entry into my life was so much more beautiful. I reveled in the depth of your song and how my phantom tree frogs were no match for the real thing: a symphony outside my window.

The thought of losing you again was almost more than I could bear, but now you’re back. Please don’t go away again. Please, please don’t go away again.

I love you so.

Erin

ps: That Warrior Frog might be bigger than you, but singing full blast despite the endless booming fireworks of July 4th is one helluva way to announce your return. Mad respect, Tree Frogs, mad mad respect.