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Book of Days

BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY

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July 27: Crickets

Kristen Lindquist

My mother's nickname for me growing up was Cricket, so I think that just gave me a natural affinity for the insect, which I still enjoy observing in my yard. When I was a kid I made a little box out of toothpicks so I could keep a pet cricket like I had read that the Japanese do. I wasn't sure what to feed it, so I gave it little bits of bologna, which I'm pretty sure it didn't eat. I only kept it for a day and then freed the poor thing because it wouldn't make its cricket noises for me.

When they start "singing" loudly enough to really take notice, that's a sign that summer's reached its peak. This afternoon I was sitting at my desk, just sitting and thinking, and I suddenly really noticed the sound of crickets. There's supposed to be some formula you can use to figure out how warm it is from how rapid the cricket's chirps are, but all I know is that it's a hot afternoon and the individual chirps produced by the crickets' wings are coming fast, blending together to create a rising hum. We get used to hearing it in the background on days like this, but it really is a beautiful chorus of sorts when you take a moment to listen.

The hum of crickets
awakens me from daydreams.
Summer is passing.