echo lake

40 years from now

The slivered moon cast its reflection across rippling lake waters. It was framed by abounding stars, sometimes interrupted by wisps of cotton tufted clouds. Silhouettes of densely packed pine trees surrounded the lake. And the soundscape was composed of owls calling, crickets chirping, and frogs emitting a deep ribbit—all in harmonious civility.

“Listen, Clay.” Grandpa said, stoking the campfire.

“Can you hear that?” 

Clay leaned towards the lake, listening with intent.

“The frogs are really loud.”

Grandpa smiled as he cupped his hands over his chest, partially concealing the ‘Haighton University’ logo on his sweater. “Yeah, you know why?”

Clay shook his head.

“They stay in sync, croaking together as a means of defense. With so many synchronized, it makes it difficult for a predator to focus in and find any one of them. You see, sound is their weapon.”

Clay’s eyes bulged in wide-eyed wonder. “Whoa, really?”

“Truth.” Grandpa said. He leaned towards Clay, ready to unload a secret. “These frogs came back…” Grandpa’s voice hovered above a whisper. “When I was your age, back when planes flew, the rumble of the engines threw off the frogs rhythm, making it easier for a predator to isolate a ribbit, and find their frog—their dinner. I remember when the frogs at this lake were almost gone.”

“But tonight, they’re here.” Clay said.

Grandpa nodded, “Tonight, they’re here; part of a grand, orchestrated song, crafted by nature’s breath.” 

-m

April 21, 2020

Photo Credit: Jake Weirick