When the Crickets' Songs Are Only a Recent Memory
Chilling air permeates the slightly-ajar door.
It's the still, early winter evening once again.
A pair of hands abruptly close the crack,
and the smell of apple cider heating is sweet.
Some chimneys are still alive,
while only a few hours are left
before the warmth underneath the blanket is filled.
But the fragrance of burning oak will linger throughout the dark,
filling the nakedness outside.
The crickets' chirp has been long gone.
It was the season past, when the leaves were still falling,
when, with clear and loud voices,
the evening performers hid and sang behind the shelves,
pleasantly awakening in the early morn.
Some pairs of feet tiptoed on the already soft carpet,
wanting to listen closer without disturbing.
The songs were light and crisp.
They drew like magnet even the sleepy souls.
It is now only a recent memory.
The crickets' songs have been long gone.
Anna Siti Kawuryan
Falls Church, VA
Anna Siti Kawuryan
