Where Are You, My Little Green Friends?

Of the many voices I hear every year, two have disappeared. I'm not sure if the absence is intentional or accidental. Has disease wiped out the voices' owners? Have migration patterns moved the voices to other parts of the world? Perhaps a few years of drought have pushed the voices' species to extinction in the environment I live.

I don't know the reason(s). I simply miss hearing the voice of the tree frogs, the sound of spring's arrival and summer's promise, a hint of fireflies, stirring up thoughts of cicadas and katydids, with cricket choruses just around the next bend of time's path I travel.

I rely upon the birds, instead, the cardinal and chickadee, the goldfinch and wren. The call of the crow and the twirl of the woodpecker add to natural sounds that make up my day.

But I still miss the tree frogs' cranky voice and creaky call. A bullfrog's harrumph is not enough.