In Iowa, the cricket sings a harbinger's song of autumn. The fireflies have already packed their bags and left (there isn't a lonelier sight than a solo firefly in September). The next generation of cicada are deep in the ground. Box elder bugs gather in sunny patches for one last BIG family reunion before dispersing to their buggy netherlands. Only the crickets remain to play, like the quartet of musicians on the Titanic's deck, until the first hard frost signals the silence of a new season.
Listen tonight for the sound of the cricket. Hear the approach of fall.
1 comment:
One of my all-time favorite books is "Cricket in Times Square". I have always had a fascination with Crickets! Love love love this piece!
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