He was 12 years old. That made him the oldest green frog in the pond. He lived together with other frogs in the shallow waters of the creek, under the oleanders. This was an extra-ordinarily good year. It rained enough for 2 winters in a row so the land’s thirst was satisfied, the dams were full and thus some water was fortunately left to flow from the mountains to the sea through the creek in which he lived. That made his life and the life of all frogs and beings much easier, or more frankly said, it made their life possible, at least for one more summer. He knew that for others life stopped years ago. Crabs and fish disappeared from the creek since the years of great warmth and drought began. Some voices were now lost. Forever.
But this year, their home pond thrived. In the depth of the small canyon, where he lived with his folks, in between the water and the rocks, hundred of oleanders grew great pink flowers. Dozens of other plants rooted around and even more insects nested there: bees, dragonflies, mosquitos. This creek was a vital place, a source of life for all land and air beings.
It was dusk and just like every dusk, he was preparing, along with his fellow frogs, for the evening concert. Every evening they held the same ritual: a symphony of loud and unreserved songs. This was their way of celebrating one more day of life. And everyone was part of it. Despite how bad or good their voice was, how high or low their pitch, it was essential for all frogs to be part of it. What kind of celebration of life would it be if one living frog did not join? And this concert was going to be a special one. Tonight, a full Moon rose from the East. This indeed could be a reason to make this concert special, but it wasn’t.
The old frog was tuning his base voice when he heard humans approaching. He heard them parking their car on the hill. He never left his pond, but he knew that human travelled with a vehicle that made an unnatural sound. Then he heard their footsteps approaching. They stopped somewhere not so close and began speaking.
The old frog along and his companions continued the preparation of the concert. Two of these humans left the hill and descended near the creek. “Silence!” the old frog signalled his folks. It could be dangerous to sing so loud next to such a big creature, so one by one the frogs hushed. Very few human - and very rarely - visit their area without an intention to kill or hurt. But these ones seemed they had good intentions. They jumped from one side of the creek to the other, playful and attentive. It even seemed as if they were speaking to them too. Maybe they got enchanted by full Moon – the old frog through.
Soon, the humans returned back to the hill and thus the frogs were free to begin their concert. And they did. Loud and clear, they started singing the song of life. Some of them where stopping in the middle to catch a breath and at that time others were joining. If you could hear their song, you would wonder how such a little being makes such a loud and rich song. These frogs were singing their hearts out. They were singing as if this was their last song to sing.
Suddenly, in the middle of their symphony they heard something they had never heard before. Something that moved them deeply inside. For a while, they quieted in order to hear it better. What was this extra-ordinary and unknown sound? Where was it coming from? Who was actually making it?
It took them few seconds until they realized. Oh, yes! That’s what it was! It was a human song! It was the song of 4 women standing on the hill. Their voices were majestic. The frogs were mesmerised. It sounded as if their voices was awaiting for years to be released. Raw, clear and loud, colourful and melodic, unreserved and untamed. This is how their song sounded under the light of the full Moon.
At that moment, the old frog recalled a tale of his ancestors. Once upon a time, the tale said, humans and frogs were singing together near the creeks, at dawns and dusks, celebrating the miracle of life, honouring the Earth and Moon. But one day humans departed from the creek and the frogs were left alone. Although incomplete, the frogs carried the song and tended the life celebration ritual, for decades and centuries, hoping that one day the humans will return to join them. “Lucky will be the ones who will hear the human song again” his grandfather told him.
Tears wet the eyes of the old frog. Water from his inside merged with the water of the creek, as his song merged with the song of the four women under the full Moon. So he sang the loudest he could at this special concert. Not only him, but the whole creek was singing along; the other frogs, the water, the rocks, the oleanders, the dragonflies, the Earth, the Moon. A true symphony! A hope of sacred unification after years of separation was born at that night. The song of the creek continued until the dawn, inviting desperately humans to return to their song, to return to their home. Would the four women hear their calling? And if yes, what would they do after? … Who knows? That’s another story maybe. I can only tell you that when the song finished, the old frog went to sleep. That day he had the most joyous dreams. Under the great oleanders the old frog had the most peaceful sleep, out of which he never woke up.
* Inspired by the sacred creeks of the island of Cyprus, the full Moon and 4 gorgeous women who dared to sing wildly in the wild.
Eleni Michail
