There’s something about September and cicadas
whose voices swell in chorus.
By day, they hum a march for workers on their daily route.
Or school children scrubbed and waiting for the bus.
By night, they murmur lullabies
to soothe the weary, escort them to soft comforts.
Perhaps the shrill staccato notes
are urgent love songs to each other.
Crooned and amplified in echoes among the trees.
Or hymns to Mother Nature.
On the cusp of shifting to autumnal splendor.
The repetitive vibrations set my ears in motion.
Discerning the chirp chirp of cardinals.
Caw caw of crows.
Whoosh whoosh of the wind.
Bubbling burble of the brook.
A bath in sound waves on a fading summer day.
A divine dividend.
No tickets needed to attend this concert.
A spontaneous serenade.
Bleats and whistles day and night.
The rehearsal is the show!
This musical mystical piece sends me sailing.
Into silent temples in my mind.
Where simplicity is sacred.
There in the quietude, it’s possible to unfetter senses.
Transcend them.
Inhale joy in its purest state.
Lynn Benjamin
September 13, 2003