Yesterday I heard it--the first cricket of August and it is still July.
The cricket sound is mournful. It reminds me of the end of summer, when school or routine looms large, and the days are once again waning towards the inevitable shortest day.
Crickets are good luck--in the fall we allow them to come in the house and let them stay with us. They sing for several months in odd, unexpected places. And then they go away again--perhaps they sing because they know they only have a short time before dying.
Peepers herald the end of spring and the warmer days ahead. Fireflies are the silent beacon of midsummer, although we don't seem to have them around much anymore--not as when I was a child when they glimmered across the suburban lawns of Ohio and hovered over the new mown farm fields in New Hampshire.
Crickets announce that fall is near. Somehow this year it seems too early for crickets.