Written for dVerse
As I sit here, the sounds are three: Scout changing position and then sharply shaking; the steady hum of the air conditioner; and the cricket chorus you might ignore unless attuned to nature.
Unlike the harsh chatter of cicadas heard recently on a heat-filled day, crickets remind that the days are growing shorter, the warmth is to be embraced, savored, because cold will too soon come, and the voices of crickets will be shuttered, and the night will be hushed, still, cold.
The cricket chorus
August night’s gentle layer.
Summer passes so.