Fifteen crickets , five pairs of little eyes. Turning to me, blinking big behind magnifying glasses and then bending to gaze into the temporary world, watching crickets scittering around in the grass, nibbling sunny carrot shavings.
In Brazil, I tell them, a green cricket is cause for hope. In China a cricket, given respect and a home in his own little cage, will bring you luck. Generations of children know Jiminy’s wisdom never fails.
Five pairs of eyes, fifteen crickets. Delighting us with their freedom, hopping joyfully into the tiny garden outside my bedroom door, becoming hope, luck, wisdom. Long late hours after the children have gone home, they compose the music of my dreams.
