Since the end of summer, the late August and beginning of September, the Greggs have been invaded by crickets. Along with the feeble sound of them, one sound after another, autumn seems to be informed by their bell-like singing. 

I loved crickets before this summer. It reminds me of the vague and distant memory from far far away, back to the summers in granny’s house, the decent smell of jasmines and the glowing reflection of dew’s on granny’s morning glories. On each of these summer nights, the crickets sing for the first time at dusk. It begins hesitantly, with its voice low and raw. But it keeps groping to change the key, gradually rising, searching for the most harmonious way of pronunciation. Suddenly, stars appeared in the transparent green sky. At this time, the singing became as smooth and soft as silver bells, and very pleasant to the ear. The fresh night breeze blows, and the flowers bloom at night. There is a pure and sacred atmosphere floating in the fields, coming from the dark blue blurry grass, as if it is in the sky or underground. The excited songs of crickets sounded like the sound of shadows, flowing smoothly and firmly throughout the fields. They emitted similar notes like twin brothers, flying together in the clear darkness. The fields send a soft and fragrant atmosphere to the cottage, like a frank and exquisite free youth. The wheat glowed with green waves in the moonlight, sighing to the wind at the passing hours: two o’clock, three o’clock, four o’clock… The cricket’s song was so loud, but it has disappeared.

Remembering this, it’s so hard to believe these energetics are back in my life again, crossing the Pacific ocean, bringing the dusty bell-like signings to my memory. The first cricket sneaking into our room is a large one, dark brown all over, with a pair of non-moving black eyes embedded under the antennae. There are two film-like brown wings on its back, and its two tails are as hard as two steel needles. Behind the dark vents, it shouted wildly, with fearless courage. But after dropping from the darkness, it suddenly slipped into the corner of the closet like a coward, leaving me, humans, a dumbfounding feeling. “Ahhhhh!” A yelling broke the silence of night, undoubtedly there must be another one invading my neighbor’s room. Picking the bug spray, with a mentality of either he dies or I live, I rushed out of the door and saw the “culprit” cricket in the hallway. With my eyes closed, I pushed the button on the bug spray toward that cricket. In one go, my roommate quickly picked it up with paper, opened the front door and threw it outside. Hope it realizes how harsh its life would be inside the dorm and never comes back again. But that couldn’t be the case. In Gregg A and B, crickets are overflowing, making me worried if the whole family of the crickets on campus are attacking human territory. Each day, at least a dozen of them would go fight with humans, especially after the last ray of sunset recedes from the stage of the sky, it’s the time for “war”. In this late summer, crickets, the little creatures, are using their way to farewell to the summer sun. Maybe they know that the fire of their lives is gradually extinguishing and they are about to reach the end of their lives, so they still sing and do not give in to the autumn wind in order to retain the last splendid glory. They sang, they hurt, until at the end, their hearts stopped beating. 

Although meeting the dark figures from vents is not that pleasant and somehow scary, I think I will still miss these little singers and look forward to next year’s summer.