I’m sitting here in a quiet house listening to the most wonderful sound.: crickets.. lots of them.. Out singing for mates.. or singing for the heat.. or just singing for the heck of it. The quiet pulsing chirp of these things slowly works its way into our brains as summer starts to wind down.. all nights get full of this sound.. i love falling asleep to it.. It reminds me of cooler days coming.. cold wet dew in the morning and sweatshirts at night.. even as it’s still hot during the day.<\/p>\n
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it reminds me a gain how much i love were, whne and how\u00a0 we live here..<\/p>\n
nite all. nte sam<\/p>\n
-me<\/p>\n
The Cricket sang,<\/strong><\/p>\n by Emily Dickinson<\/strong><\/p>\n The cricket sang, The low grass loaded with the dew, A vastness, as a neighbor, came,– I’m sitting here in a quiet house listening to the most wonderful sound.: crickets.. lots of them.. Out singing for mates.. or singing for the heat.. or just singing for the heck of it. The quiet pulsing chirp of these things slowly works its way into our brains as summer starts to wind down.. all … Continue reading Monday night – Crickets<\/span>
\nAnd set the sun,
\nAnd workmen finished, one by one,
\nTheir seam the day upon.<\/p>\n
\nThe twilight stood as strangers do
\nWith hat in hand, polite and new,
\nTo stay as if, or go.<\/p>\n
\nA wisdom without face or name,
\nA peace, as hemispheres at home,–
\nAnd so the night became.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"