Sound Splatter

It’s said around here the crickets manifest themselves

in these fields, emerging from the stones

and the shadows into twilight.

At lunch today a surprise cricket jumped out after being spun in my salad spinner.

A last ditch leap as I chopped the rainbow chard from my garden to finer bite sized pieces.

Did I nip off the tip of its wing?

I’m hoping it is fitting a wing

Possibly with a thimble, inventing a new heavy metal chord

Creating seismic sound gardens of hard rock axe-wielders?

Ravi Shankar, and his apprentice Phillip Glass

Understood the cricket hypnotic salad

Masters of the sound glyphs.

I’ll be listening tonight, when the sky changes color,

A single sun source spreading pink, fade to blue-violet to gray Prussian blue

Signaling the opening curtain for my cricket symphonic renaissance.

Will there be an errant wing, breaking out,

A doom shadow to punctuate its angst sound splatter

Sifting in a new raw, into the avant guard gradually evolving pattern?