A few nights ago, on my nightshift watch, I marvelled at the wild, whacky, whimsical nature of the Creator of the universe; or the earth at least; well, my garden anyway.
When the night is still, while the clouds lie breathlessly in wait to sashay around the moon on her dazzling entrance, I can feel my senses sharpening.
My eyes begin to puncture the darkness. The cold lies on my skin like chilled petals. The earthy, vanilla scent of black wattle burning in a neighbor’s hearth thickens the air, while the shiny allegro of nature’s tinnitus crescendos around me.
Crickets.
Out here in the dark, they are the song of the stars, when they are in chorus. But that night, for some odd reason, the ensemble decided it was time for a solo performance, clearly promoting their most accomplished virtuoso.
This was all new to me; a single, lonely outdoor cricket.
Then it dawned on me. I was being treated to something truly rare. And as I listened, I wondered whether I would be rewarded with a varied repertoire.
But no such luck. The song was stuck.
So back to the Creator and what He/She/Zie was thinking when designing this curious monotonic garden minstrel? And why, when outdoors, do they soothe, and indoors infuriate? I mean, all they’re doing is rubbing their legs together.
SFX: Creator chuckling
To understand a little more about my personal solo performer for the night, I ran a little experiment. What happens when you record a cricket and then slow the playback down by 800%? It bears a very close resemblance to what meditation music composers call "Binaural Beats".
Have a listen. (Link attached.)
Next time you’re out under the stars, marvel at the genius of nature’s design that we so often take for granted.
But if you’re in bed and trying to sleep, resist the urge to reach for a slipper. Because you will never find the fiddler.
And therein lies the rub.
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