Listen
Listen to the concerts of crickets, tune in to the setting, to the unseen world that is alive with instruments playing, as male wings with their ridges produce their song. Play for us crickets, or as in France, they call you little creaker. In China your song is known as good luck. The thin papery portions of your wings vibrate as you rub them together, a song to your mate, to show your territory. Your calling song can be heard for miles, but once your mate comes near, you begin your courtship song, and finally a celebratory song. Your medley fills the night. While some never hear you, they only need to listen. Play for us crickets, you boisterous pleasant sounds that lulls us as a lullaby. The acoustics are fine in Earth's creation.
Listen to the aria of frogs, as they sing in harmony, a cappella. The squirrel treefrog with his vocal pouch which stretches like a balloon, a resonating chamber allowing him to sing, the large frogs with their deep voices and low frequencies, the small frogs with their high chirps and high frequencies, cold frogs with their slower rate as their muscles slow their tempo down, why do you sing? Your answer? - to attract a mate, mark your territory, show the weather is changing, or to show you are frightened or hurt. Sing for us frogs; sing in your ribbit fashion; fill the air with your comforting stay of song, your bebop of the cosmos.
Listen to the unison of the locusts, as they play their own unique style, rubbing their legs against their wings. Short pegs on the inner surface of hind legs drawn against the stiff outer layers of hind wings, make your soft sounds. Banned-winged locusts, you make your clicking and rattling sound as you fly, your wing snapping as your wing membranes are suddenly popped taut. Are you attracting your mate or simply frightened? Sing for us locusts, adding your percussion sounds; let us know nature is in unity, your chamber music of the countryside.
Listen to the accord of the cicadas with their loud songs. Your tymbals at the base of your abdomen are stiff but flexible with a stout membrane. Your muscles pull the tymbal inward causing it to pop, and pop again when the tymbal is released. As you rapidly contract and relax the tymbal muscles you fill the air with your loud buzzing song, amplified by the hollow in your abdomen. Play for us cicadas, loud and strong that the world is alive, with your classical environmental contributions.
Listen to the compatibility of the grasshoppers, as a row of pegs along the inside of the hind legs acts like a file or rasp. As you rub your leg surface against the thickened forewing, you produce your vibration. Play band-winged grasshoppers as you play a different song than your cousins, snapping your hindwings rapidly as you fly, making your distinct crackling sound. Play your tunes grasshoppers, lest we forget the songs of the outdoors that make us feel alive, your folk music of the forest.
Listen to the cooperation of the songbirds, strains of the scenery. Wren, with your songlike warning call; robin with your fluting, warbling song; nightingale with your loud impressive range of whistles, trills and gurgles; magpie with your complex caroling call; blue jay with your loud gull-like scream, starlings with your complex vocalizations, mimicking sounds around you; and swallows with your simple, musical twittering; sing for us strong and with dignity showing us a land that is filled with song, instrumentals of generations.
Listen to the rapport of the water, refrain of the seascape. The ocean's mighty waves roar into shore, the breaking of its wall. The lyric of the brook's trickle over stones, the creek's splashes against the brush, and the gurgle of the spring all tranquilize the atmosphere. Release your vocals, bodies of water; relaxing us as we tune in to hymns of the landscape.
Listen to the verses of the wind, opera of the outdoors. The whistles, the short gusts, the strong wisps, loud howls that let us know what the day will bring. Add your carol to the mixture, air; we will hear your vocals, soft or loud, melodies of the macrocosm.
Listen, hear not spoken voices; listen, hear not artificial sound, that noise which drowns what is not silent here. Listen to the conformity of the composition of life, performances of natural consensus, unbridled pure kinship. Listen as it sings its ballad; listen as it plays your chorus; listen, for it is the anthem of the universe.