As I lay in bed this morning, not quite ready to get up, enjoying the hum of the crickets in the dawn, I was reminded of an article I read in a recent issue of "The New Yorker"about eating insects. Insects will need to become more culturally acceptable in this country as a source of protein, was the premise, as a renewable resource that doesn't add to greenhouse gases or take up too much space. Crickets were cited as a common delicacy in some cultures.

So I'm listening to the crickets wondering if their song would sound different to me if, after I got out of bed, I was planning to get up and have some for breakfast. Of course, the lowing of cows does't make me hungry for a steak or milk. But I also don't go out and harvest a cow myself. I'm not likely to start eating crickets anytime soon. For now I'm content to hear their song as the soothing backdrop to a misty morning on the river. But it made me think.

Mmm. Like Pavlov's dog
my lips smack at cricket's song,
my singing breakfast.