Beaten

I appreciate the regularity of the cricket's song, especially now that my daily life is de-scheduled and disarrayed. I never know anymore when I might have an unexpected task or when I might drop off to sleep because I was awakened at an inopportune time. Disruptions abound. Now the house across the street, vacated by its aged, long-time owners who have decamped to some Midwestern ancestral home to die, is being re-roofed and otherwise renovated in preparation for its sale, frequently noisily, providing one more disruption to my days.

But here is the holiday, and I get to have two days in a row free of the laborious noises! And, this being the particular holiday that it is—dedicated primarily to the movement of machines around tracks of various sorts—the kid next door who so frequently in recent weeks has taken advantage of the warming weather to do various noisy things in and to his yard, is off racing small two-wheeled vehicles in dirt and probably won't return (assuming he survives at all) until late tomorrow. Today I was able to sleep undisturbed, and that may be the case tomorrow as well.

Sadly, this is the best vacation I'm likely to get all year. I'm spending this part of it listening to those crickets, who spend their lives measuring warm nights with soft, regular chirps. Hearing them I think there was a time when I was as artless as they in keeping rhythms going. I wonder it that's true or just something I imagine? If it's true I wonder if I'll ever have that knack again?


( Sunday Verse )