The songs of the rainforest

 I had to see it again. I had to see my home one more time, its beauty and splendor, without having the noises of those I love around me, without explaining every little detail or answering every question I may or may not have an answer to. Don't get me wrong, I love them. I love them so much that I call them my home, but this is my true land: "Mi Tierra" mi "Borinquen."

I continued sneaking off through the rainforest. A few minutes would not hurt. There were so many people on this excursion that they would not notice I was gone for just a few minutes. My daughter was too busy with her cousins. My husband was too busy laughing with my brother, and my mother happily translated for my mother-in-law. I had become a ghost in the background. Lucky me. Walking out of the path, soaked and silent, I followed the sound of the waterfall, hearing the roar that called out my name, clearly echoing inside my brain. Just a peak, I repeated inside my head.

Around me, the sound of the island resonated, and the songs of those who stood before me were felt. This is their home. This is my home. Yet I had ventured way deep into the rainforest, way beyond what they told me to, far away from the guide. Suddenly, I slipped, grabbing the branches of the trees nearby and scrapping my arms, back, and legs before feeling a slight thump on my head. I opened my eyes, still surrounded by the rainforest's vibrant green color of the trees embraced by the cerulean sky. I was still here. That is when I heard two distinct voices emerge from the underbrush. I bent to my knees, peering under to see who had followed me, yet I could not see anyone nearby.

The voices continued as I looked closer, dragging myself on the muddy ground. They were not human. I noticed the voices below belonged to a Coquí, a tiny yet proud frog known for its harmonious nighttime song. The other was Sapo Concho, a sturdier toad whose rough exterior belied a gentle spirit. I rubbed my eyes as I saw the two creatures speaking by the waterfall's edge. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. As dusk fell, the two friends settled on a mossy rock near a stream, their usual gathering spot beneath the stars.

“Do you ever think about how fragile we are?” Coquí asked, his voice a delicate tremor in the cool evening air. The question lurked now in the back of my mind. Fragile? We are all fragile.

Sapo Concho nodded, his eyes reflecting the silver shimmer of the moonlight. “I do. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we vanished, if no one could hear your song or see my warts one day.” He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s like the Tainos. They were once here, vibrant and full of life, and now…”

“They’re remembered only in history books and barely. There is not much on them in those things either.” Coquí finished with a hint of sadness in his croaky voice. “Their stories fade like echoes in an empty cave. I don’t want that for us.” I felt that sentence hit the pit of my stomach.

Silence accompanied us all. They were momentarily lost in their thoughts as I crept behind, yet also silent, lost in the idea of being forgotten, my story not told, my memory fading with my family. The gentle rustle of leaves flowing in the wind whispered around us. It was just a reminder that the world we inhabited could quickly be lost. We were all fragile.

“What do you think we could do, Coquí?” Sapo Concho finally spoke, a hint of concern ringing in his deep tone as he leaped forward, almost closing the gap between them, bringing their voices to a low whisper. “To make sure we’re not forgotten like Tainos were?”

Coquí smiled reassuringly, “Well, for starters, we must sing louder. My song is a part of this island’s heartbeat. If I share my melody, perhaps it will weave itself into the stories of the forest.” I wish what was happening was real; I wish I could tell him his song was already woven inside our hearts.

Sapo Concho’s gaze brightened. “And I can tell tales of our days beneath the stars, the rain that nourishes our home, the warmth of the sun on our backs. Maybe our voices together can create a legacy.” I wish this were true, that I could embrace them and assure them they were already a legacy written deep inside our souls.

“Yes!” Coquí leaped with excitement, “We can celebrate our existence. I’ll sing my song every night, and you can narrate the history of the land we love. Visitors will tell their children our stories, and we can live on through them.”

Sapo Concho chuckled, his laughter rumbling like the waterfall. “A beautiful plan, little friend. But how do we inspire the visitors to listen?” I silently sat on the ground, admiring the two creatures glaring before me. How do you make a visitor listen? For my family, it was me, and it was my daughter. This was our land, which they grew to love and care for, but for others, what was this? How would they listen to the Coquí and the Sapo Concho?

Coquí pondered momentarily, then sang with tremendous excitement, “Let’s make a festival! A gathering of big and small creatures to share our songs and stories. We can invite everyone—the other frogs, the birds, and even the humans!”

Concho's eyes widened with charm. “Yes! A festival of voices. They’ll come for the joy, but they’ll leave with memories of our songs and stories. We can fill the nights with laughter and music, ensuring that we are not just part of the forest but part of a greater tale.” My smile grew as I heard a call from afar, turning for a second to look behind. They had noticed I was gone. I turned back to Coquí and Concho to see them looking at me as I backed away.

I heard the song of the Coquí as they stared at me; there were no more voices. I stood and started walking away as the stars twinkled overhead. As I ventured away, I could hear their voices again, mingling in the distance, sharing ideas and dreams, weaving a plan of celebration that would unite their world. I imagine they spoke into the night, crafting melodies and narratives that would echo through generations.

I was back with my family, hearing their song from afar as we headed back to the trail, the car, and real life. Still in my heart, I could feel the promise of their festival fueling their spirits, even mine, as Coquí and Sapo Concho's song was heard louder. I felt a flicker of hope in my heart. Hoping their fears of being forgotten lingered like shadows, I wished they realized that through their voices and the stories they could share, they would ensure that their nature, like the songs of the Coquí, would resonate long after.

As I rode in the car, looking out the window and glancing back at my daughter, who was fast asleep, I could not help but wonder that beneath the canopy of stars, the two friends had begun a journey to remember their existence and celebrate the legacy of all who had come before them—a legacy I wanted to share, a legacy I wanted to bring to life to ensure that it was never forgotten.