The Summer Orchestra
Updated: Jul 17, 2021
#crickets #therearecricketshidinginthegrass #irmag #Today
Long ago, my mother sang a song to me, to my brothers and then to her grandchildren and some of her great grandchildren. The song was about crickets. I remember the words to this day; and how she sang those words. I sing the same words to my grandchildren.
I always know that the summer is well underway when I hear the crickets for the first time and today was that day. The sound brings on both happy and sad thoughts because summer is always so anticipated and before you hear the crickets you might think that summer will stretch on forever. When you hear the crickets sing, you know that fall is slowly sneaking up.
Actually, as I write this little piece and look for information, it seems like the insect that I am hearing is not a cricket, but a summer cicada. I am attaching an article to this post.
I will keep the poem the same....but I recognize that I should probably substitute the name cicada instead of crickets!
You never know when they will begin to play.
July, or perhaps August.
The orchestra tunes up its strings out of site
Hidden in the trees
or sheltered by long blades of
uncut July grass.
And then you hear them
The sound you haven’t heard
for a year.
As familiar as the sounds of summer.
softly at first,
then growing louder
Their confidence grows.
They know you are there
remembering summers past.
They play harder,
hoping to impress
and the volume deepens.
Louder and louder they play.
The effort of the violinists is enormous.
They play and they play
until they are exhausted.
And they head backstage
for a drink and a rest
before the next performance begins.
And I, the listener,
an audience of one,
will wait eagerly
for their next
summer stock performance.
Here are the words to mom's song as I remember them. I cannot find the song on line so cannot attribute it to anyone.
Chirping, chirping, chirping, chirping
There are fiddlers hiding in the grass!
They are little fiddlers playing
on their violins, I guess.
All day long they play and play
in the same old way, old way.
So-la, so they keep repeating;
That is all they know, I guess!