The Crickets’ Song

I listen to the crickets’ trill. Thinking there is nothing else. Joined in concert by skittering leaves, and a breeze that clatters my chimes.

I attend to the contour of the Mango tree, against the clouded sky. The rustling wind, washing my face. In a rhythmic cold embrace.

The dog sneezes, then yaps at some distant howl. A chorus of barking commences. Echoes. Crescendos. Then halts, in time for the Crickets’ rumpus refrain.

I would have called you tonight to cackle with me. Added laughter the this raucous. I listen instead to the trebled call. A doleful crickets’ cadence.