All summer long, the crickets have been presenting their nightly chorus on my lawn every evening. Such a warm, happy, summery sound! I listened, and listened, and then forgot to listen. I didn't even notice when the season ended and the chirps fell silent.
But I was reminded again this Sunday afternoon, walking by the river in the sunshine, when I heard one lone cricket celebrating the warmth. I looked around and soon found his mate, resting on the side of the path.
|Field cricket, female. She doesn't sing. But she does listen.|
The background of stones and sticks made it hard to see her, so I tickled her with a dried leaf until she walked onto it, meaning to transfer her to a solid background. She had other ideas; she crawled into the curled edge of the leaf and anchored herself there. No amount of shaking would dislodge her.
|"You can't see me in here."|
Is it a trick of the light, or is the tip of her ovipositor red?
I left her there, by the side of the trail, listening to her chirping mate.