The crickets sing their evening chord
the levels of their throats
High pitched hum
the lovely sound of night.
I don’t want to lay among them in the grass,
among their bulging eyes
and bony legs
and sawing jaws.
But the sound of all that rubbing
gives me pause.
Different pitches, different paces,
up in trees or different places
calms me from my window.
Sending up their song from dewy grass
from tree trunks
and flower petals like painted glass
Staghorn sumac and sunflower face
is this where the Tuvans’ throat
singing learned its place?
Kim lives in Maine, which is lovely, and where she continues her enthusiastic relationship with Art, Music, Nature, Books, Animals, Humor and Trees.