Just frogs.

Not to explain them.
Not to save them.
Not to cartoon them.
Not even to croak with them.

Just frogs.
Some green. Some not.
Some tiny as a fingernail.
Some as big as a plate.
Breathing through skin,
staring without blinking.

Frogs:
who lived before the dinosaurs
and might outlast us.
Who sing when it rains
and vanish when it matters.

Frogs.
That's all.

You said:

who lived before the dinosaurs

Really?

ChatGPT said:

Yes — really. Frogs are ancient.

The earliest true frogs (order Anura) appeared over 200 million years ago, during the early Jurassic period — well before the extinction of the dinosaurs (~66 million years ago). Some proto-amphibians even go back farther, into the Devonian period (~360 million years ago), but those were not frogs yet.

Frogs, in their modern form — short body, no tail, strong legs for jumping — are survivors of deep time. They've seen continents drift, climates shift, and empires rise and fall. They’re evolutionary elders, quietly leaping through the wreckage of history.

So yes:
Frogs lived before the dinosaurs.
And they’re still here.

You said:

Who sing when it rains

Why though?

ChatGPT said:

Ah — “Who sing when it rains.”
Why do frogs sing then?

Because rain means life to them.

When it rains:

• Ponds fill
  Many frogs lay their eggs in temporary pools formed by rain. These ephemeral ponds are safer — no fish to eat the tadpoles. The rain is an invitation to reproduce.

• Humidity rises
  Frogs breathe partly through their skin, which must stay moist. Rain makes the air soft and breathable — a green light for movement, for voice, for being.

• Temperature changes
  Many frogs are cold-blooded. Rain can signal a shift into the right thermal window for activity, especially in tropical or seasonal regions.

And so, they sing.
The males call to find mates, each species with its own rhythm, like a chorus of damp persistence.
Some call from trees, others from mud,
some with voices like bells,
some like broken machinery,
some like the breath of the earth itself.

Why do frogs sing when it rains?
Because for them, rain is the world saying: Now.
Now is the time to be alive.
Now is the time to make more life.

You said:

Now is the time to make more life.

What about anti-natalist frogs. If Schopenhauer was a frog he would disagree.

ChatGPT said:

Yes. If Schopenhauer were a frog,
he’d crouch silently at the edge of the pond,
refusing to croak.

While the others call —
inflating their throats like little drums of lust and doom —
he’d keep his skin damp in the shade,
ruminating on the will-to-leap,
but not leaping.

When rain comes, and the others surge toward reproduction,
Schopenhauer-frog would say:

"The tadpole suffers the moment it twitches.
Better not to spawn at all."

He might watch the jelly-egg masses with a kind of sickened awe,
their transparency a metaphor for futility.
Each one: a tiny metaphysical trap,
soon to be legs, lungs, and longing.

Still — it’s hard to be anti-natalist when your nervous system is tuned
to the pulse of moisture and moonlight.
Even Schopenhauer-frog might croak once, involuntarily.