One night a year, humans command this march of frogs and salamanders
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On a Tuesday night in April, beneath a sky mottled with clouds, a slick stretch of road in Cumberland, Maine, erupted in sound. It started with a few high-pitched chirps, like the coos of chicks. Within minutes, dozens, then hundreds more joined a chorus punctuated by low clucks. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon and rain began to splatter the pavement, the sound had risen to a din. Cars stopped on the shoulder and people spilled onto the road wearing neon vests and waving bright flas
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