Crickets Chirp Around the Door

The woods are dark this morning

and take the shape of an owl hooting.

Fat black crickets chirp in secret places around the door,

drawn by the warmth from their uncertain futures,

their constancy voicing a warning inside the refrain.

Where do they go in the winter when the land is silent,

the warm bustle of coffee and a cat on the lap moving indoors to the hearth?

*

Each part of the year has had its beginning and end,

each sharing its original tune and measures,

each leaving with its little question mark,

a country reel pausing, the dancers on the floor waiting impatiently for the next tune.

*

There is a trill, and a low note, and a high note in this dance,

though the characters in the trio are invisible to me.

1&2&3&4&, this is the drum beat,

with a high-pitched trill lasting for five or six rounds without a break,

then it shifts to a lower tone.

Clumsily transcribing it, the melody hovers elusively on the edge of recognition. Can you hear it?

*

The rests lengthen between measures

with the shifting mood of the players,

the metronome tick-ticking hands of the kitchen clock labor away,

the miles distant rumbling of a freight train intones,

blowing its whistle through the intersections on the river bank.

*

As light returns, tree shapes emerge, then colors,

marking the places where everything exists.

The night instruments gradually taper off, then still,

the musicians retire sleep-deprived to their beds.

The jay begins its call.

It is time to close the door to the frost,

and listen from the inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crickets Chirp Around the Door was originally published on Medium in Scribe on October 26, 2024