The Cricket's Song

The cricket buzzes outside my window,

old french music plays to the melody of the rain,

a breeze drifts to tickle my feet at the foot of my bed,

blankets surround me –

I remember long gone friends,

dwell on events long lost,

desire to forget what can never be changed,

I imagine a world of clear choices and options

while I stare at the ceiling above me,

the wall to my left,

the wall to my right,

and out of the window in front of me.

Then with a touch of my finger

the light slowly fades,

my head is engulfed in a sweet-smelling pillow,

the covers turn into sheltering arms,

the music dissolves into past memory,

the rain becomes a trickle,

and the cricket sings on.