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Aug. 15 2012

While sitting on the front porch one evening

By Mark Malinowski | Posted in Host Blogs | 1 Comment

The chorus of crickets begins its song.

There are no words (that I know of)

but their song calls the birds–

the small grey ones with no tails.

They gather on the lawn looking for seeds

that will soon

be washed away

and knowing that later

the larger birds will come

looking for worms.

 

The cricket chorus suddenly becomes quiet.

The birds look around,

waiting for music to return.

In the uncomfortable silence

they take flight

and all is still.

 

In the distance

lights flash

like the work of some huge photographer

who grumbles loudly after each shot.

 

The air feels charged.

My arm hairs try to stand.

The a bright bolt splits the horizon.

And an explosion like a salvo from a battleship

breaks the calm.

And the rain begins.

 

Several miles away

someone sits on his porch

and listens

to the chorus of crickets.

Mark Malinowski

About

Mark is WBJC's morning host. His full bio can be read here.

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