The Lost Jungle of the Parrots

The Lost Jungle of the Parrots

Long ago, hidden deep within the heart of the Amazon, there was a place untouched by man — a jungle so dense, so alive, and so vibrant that even the oldest maps didn’t mark it. The locals called it Selva Perdida — the Lost Jungle. Legends whispered of a mystical valley where parrots ruled the skies, intelligent and colorful, with voices that echoed the past and eyes that held ancient wisdom.

No human had ever set foot there… until now.

Twelve-year-old Maya Delgado had grown up hearing her grandfather’s stories about the Lost Jungle. He was once a famed explorer, and though many doubted him, Maya believed every word. When he passed away, he left her a leather-bound journal. Inside were sketches, notes, and a crude map — with one place circled in red ink: “Home of the Parrots.”

Fueled by curiosity and a desire to prove her grandfather right, Maya joined her parents on an environmental expedition into the Amazon. One misty morning, with her backpack slung over her shoulder and the journal clutched tightly, she wandered off the main path, drawn by an eerie chorus of bird calls. The sound was strange — not just chirping, but actual mimicry of words and melodies.

Before she realized it, Maya had stepped into a clearing unlike any other. Towering trees, their trunks braided with vines, formed natural arches. Exotic flowers the size of her head bloomed in brilliant hues, and the air shimmered with the flapping of thousands of wings.

Parrots. Everywhere.

Scarlet macaws, green-winged amazons, blue-and-yellow parakeets — colors danced in the sky like a living rainbow. But what caught Maya’s breath was the sight of a giant stone statue of a parrot in the center of the clearing. Moss clung to its beak, and ancient carvings spiraled down its base.

As she approached, the birds grew quiet. One particularly large parrot, with emerald feathers and piercing amber eyes, flew down to perch on a vine in front of her.

“You are not like the others,” it said clearly. “Why are you here, Child of Delgado?”

Maya gasped. The parrot had spoken her name. She opened the journal, flipping to a page her grandfather had marked. There, drawn in faded pencil, was the same parrot. Beneath it were the words: “They remember.”

“My grandfather… he found this place, didn’t he?” she asked in awe.

The parrot nodded. “Long ago. He was kind. He listened. He helped us when the fires came.”

Maya’s heart pounded. “Then this really is the Lost Jungle of the Parrots?”

The birds around her erupted into cheers — not squawks, but actual clapping of wings and repeated phrases like “She knows! She returns!”

The elder parrot, whose name was Tico, explained that the parrots of Selva Perdida were descendants of an ancient breed, gifted with the ability to mimic and remember not just sounds, but entire languages and histories. Her grandfather had once saved them from poachers who sought to capture and sell them. In return, the parrots had taken him in and shared their hidden world.

“He said he’d never come back. He was afraid others would follow,” Tico said. “So he made us a promise — that his legacy would protect us, not expose us.”

Maya looked around, her eyes wide with wonder. “I won’t tell anyone. But… can I stay, just for a little while?”

Tico flapped his wings. “Only if you pass the trial.”

“What trial?” she asked, nervously.

Suddenly, a group of parrots flew down and began forming shapes in the air — stars, rivers, mountains. Tico explained, “We will test your memory, your heart, and your spirit. Like your grandfather, you must prove you listen.”

The next few hours were unlike anything Maya had ever experienced. She mimicked songs, solved riddles based on parrot tales, and even helped a young injured chick. By sunset, the birds gathered again in the clearing, surrounding the statue.

“You have the voice of a listener,” Tico declared. “And the courage of one who flies without wings.”

Maya smiled through happy tears.

Before she left, the parrots gifted her a single feather — bright green with a shimmering golden tip. “This is your key,” said Tico. “Should the world need us again, speak into the wind with this, and we shall hear.”

Maya returned to the expedition, never revealing what she’d seen. But every time she opened her grandfather’s journal, she smiled — for she had found the Lost Jungle of the Parrots, and the parrots had found a new friend.