The Voice of the Night

I. The Smallest Voice

Hello, my name is Sing, I am a Romer's tree frog, or scitific name Liuixalus romeri. You have probably never seen me. I am small, smaller than your thumb, and smaller than a Hong Kong dollar coin. My back is brown, my belly is white, and I have a dark stripe running from my nose, through my eye and down to my side. That stripe is my mask, it helps me hide.

During the day, I sleep under leaves, in between rock crevices, or inside hollow stems. You normally can't see me if you just walk by, I do not move or call, I just wait. When the sun goes down and the air turns damp, I wake up. I climb onto a leaf or a branch, take a deep breath, and I sing.

My song is a short, high-pitched chirp. It sounds 'di-di-di-', like a cricket, or a tiny bell. I sing to find a mate. I sing to mark my territory. I sing because the night is warm and the air is wet, and I am alive.

I am found only in Hong Kong. Not anywhere else on Earth, this city is my entire world.

II. The Pools on the Hill

I need two things to survive: forest and water.

The forest gives me places to hide. The leaf litter on the ground is full of tiny insects like ants, mites and springtails that I eat. The trees and bushes give me places to climb, sleep and call. Without the forest, I have no home.

But I also need water. Not the ocean or a river. Just a small pool of fresh water, anywhere that holds clean water for a few weeks. That is where I lay my eggs. That is where my tadpoles grow.

I do not travel far from my pool. A few meters, maybe. I spend my whole life in a patch of forest no bigger than a tennis court, my world is small. But it also means that if something happens to that patch, maybe like if the trees are cut down, if the pool is filled in, if the water becomes polluted, I cannot leave. I will die where I live.

III. The Same Water, the Same Sea

You might wonder what a tiny tree frog has to do with the ocean. We seem far apart. I live in the hills. You swim in the sea. What connects us?

The answer is water.

The rain that falls on my forest flows downhill. It becomes a stream. That stream joins another stream, then another, then a river. That river carries sediment, nutrients, and fresh water into Deep Bay, into the Pearl River Estuary, into the same sea where the dolphins swim and the corals grow and the oysters filter.

The health of my forest affects the health of the ocean. If my pool is polluted, that pollution will eventually reach the sea. If my forest is cleared, the soil will wash down and smother the seagrass meadows where seahorses hide.

We are not separate. My tiny world is part of the same living system that begins in the hills and ends at the shore.

IV. The Threats We Share

I am luckier than some. My home is inside a Country Park. That means the forest cannot be cut down. The water is protected. There are laws that keep my pool safe.

But not all of my pools are safe. Development creeps closer every year, new roads cut through the forest, hikers wander off the trails and trample my hiding spots, pesticides from gardens and farms seep into the water, and climate change is making the dry seasons longer and the wet seasons more unpredictable.

If my pool dries up before my tadpoles are ready, they die. If the water is too warm, they grow faster but in smaller size and weaker. If there is too much pollution, they do not grow at all.

I am small and quiet. I am easy to overlook. But my disappearance would be a warning. It would mean the water is no longer clean. And that warning applies to the sea as much as it applies to me.

V. The Song Continues

I still sing every night. The forest listens. The moon rises. The insects answer.

I do not know how many of us are left. The scientists have been counting us for years. Some years there are many., and some years there are few. We go up and down, but we are still here.

As long as the forest stands and the water runs clean, I will keep singing. Not for you, for the next generation of my kind. For the tadpoles that will grow in the pools I have never seen. For the frogs that will call from the trees after I am gone.

That is the only legacy a small voice can leave. To keep singing, and hope someone hears.