It was unseasonably warm yesterday, which brought out the crickets. One must’ve come up with a new strategy during the winter, that is to perch himself as high as possible and broadcast his mating call to a wider audience. And thus it chose the second floor windowsill above our bed, and at midnight to begin his song. Tapping the glass would stop it for a minute, and opening then shutting the small sliding pane maybe twice that, but always just longer than it’d take to lie back down.
I imagined him to be an angel come to give final instructions to Xavier (in which case he’d better not be the sort to have fallen there), maybe even a warning about the world. If so I’ll have to argue my case later because I was soon violently yanking on the screen to get to him, and when I got it dislodged enough to squeeze my hand through, whipping a tape measure in its direction. He would taunt me in the worst imaginable way, by allowing me to extend my sense of accomplishment before resuming. I forfeited an hour later, and slept through the 4.4 quake at 4:04am.
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