by Dick Springgate on "Okanagan"

Frogs! Thousands of frogs. Thousands upon thousands of frogs. The sound builds and booms; it resonates through the jungle echoing off the thick banks, flowing rapidly down-stream to smash against the cliffs of opposing hills before finally rolling over us like waves upon a coral reef. The staccato fury resounds up and down the river for miles, the incoming crescendo of a million Polynesian drummers, all sounding their hollow drums at a furious rate.

We sit on the boat allowing ourselves to be engulfed by the primeval sound. They have been since the dawn of time, these green six ounce amphibians. The sound builds and fades, rises and descends in concert, directed by some invisible conductor in the jungle, waving his baton: first upriver, then from the mountains to the south, from left, then right, a giant stereophonic performance to end all frog performances.

Then stops! All gone. Nada mas this night. We lean back on our cockpit cushions and sip our hot Jasmine tea, having enjoyed another, but not unexpected performance on the Rio Dulce. A soft tropical rain drops the final curtain around us.

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November 9, 2012
© 1997-2012 Phillip Landmeier