Return of the Katydids

Scratched music of hillbilly washboards From the scraping wings of the Katydids Aloft in the Oaks Reborn each night just beyond dusk After the cicadas finish their warmup act The Katydid return is glorious Their little sound so loud It overwhelms The alarms of main street stores a block over And the roar of trucks on damnable nearby I-96 That never stops its pipeline of crashing deliveries No matter the time I don’t know why these green creatures Went completely silent last season But I missed their rickety noise and worried about them And us I tossed and turned sleepless When the wind was stolen and driven just right through my windows Maybe it was the masting grunts of acorns throughout that summer? But the thumbnail insects have returned More symphony than I’ve ever heard before Finally I can fall asleep As they strum their instruments under the applause of planets Until 4:00 AM each morning I read somewhere even insects go to sleep Though they don’t have eyelids Imagine them exhausted Stuck Staring out to their little narrow world of swaying branches If only they knew what we know The expanse they do not understand nor comprehend As they dream Of love and music and the cool brush of feathered trees In a religion they call Warm Dark Summer Breeze.