rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

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Ramble

There is a cricket just outside my window. Even though the widow is open only a crack, I can hear the chirping quite clearly. It is slow chirping. It is another chilly night. The cricket would probably prefer to be indoors, where it is warm, but probably doesn't know the indoors exists. In fact, I have no idea what a cricket does know, or if it can be said to "know" anything at all in any way that a human would understand. Perhaps crickets are quite brilliant, in some strange orthopteran way. They certainly make a music that I find pleasant and soothing. But that is likely to remain the extent of our communication.

When I was very young, I enjoyed crawling about in the grass. I'm not speaking of the time when all I could do is crawl, but later, after I had learned to walk. I gave up crawling indoors quickly, but crawling in the grass remained pleasurable for some years after I had become able to walk. I found it particularly enjoyable in the evenings, when the scent of the grass was strong, and the familiar world was shadowed and mysterious. Could this have been some atavistic instinct, I wonder? Being close to the ground and less visible is comforting. There was a vacant lot next to our house, and, in the spring, the weeds would grow tall and I could vanish among them. I remember stalking our cat through that tall grass. She liked that game as much as I did, and would sometimes reverse our roles and come bounding toward me like a small lion intent on dinner, bounce off of me and go tearing away to vanish in the green. When I tired of the hunt, I would crawl back to the small patch of manicured lawn in our front yard, and lie there watching the sky and breathing the scent of earth and grass.

It is probably the chirping of the cricket which has brought these thoughts. As a child, I enjoyed their song greatly. In my memory of those evenings, they are always there, hidden in the grass and bushes, away from the pale glow of the porch light, but inescapable. Odd, that the sound of an insect intent on its own business can coax out long hidden memories. But, maybe that is what crickets do; they keep time.
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