The sound is overbearing, but it’s nature. Nature at it’s most annoyingly perfect pitch. It’s a strangely comforting sound from my childhood; the musical intonations of the Cicada calling into the vast nature of their instinct. Wouldn’t it be grand to know what they are saying? The violin strings of the cricket seem to me an obvious analogy as the lyricists of the natural world. They open each piece with a string section, some major, some minor, and move through harmony seamlessly and without rehearsal. Sometimes the beckoning call to the neighboring birds becomes so overwhelming that even they feel compelled to chime in one after another, each winged instrument more delicate, yet more resounding than the next. Are they simply communicating all of the time, or can we leave open the possibility that every once in a while they are conducting their sounds simply for pleasure. Is that possible? Why do we assume that the human species is singular in its search and more so, its desire for beauty?