Normally, through the Summer rains, I will find a cricket in the kitchen sink just before dawn when I head in there for a cup of coffee.
This morning there were two crickets, and I managed to snare them both beneath the same water glass. That’s how I catch them. I upend a glass and drop it over the cricket.
Or crickets in this case, a rare score.
From that point, it’s an easy matter to slip a piece of paper beneath the glass, lift it up, walk to the front door, exit, and toss the noisy little bugger into the grass.
I don’t kill crickets. I’m no pacifist, but I leave crickets in peace.
The crickets may find the outdoors a bit more to their liking soon. The rains may have ended early this year. The jury is still out, as they say, but signs of Autumn have appeared.
The most flamboyant sign of Fall is that the fields along the highway between here and the capital burst into pink, and that has happened we noticed yesterday during a drive to the big city. It’s like the bluebonnets along Interstate-10 each Spring between Houston and San Antonio, but a different color and a different season.
Autumn is the best time of year here if you want to visit.
You will not get shot. You will not be beheaded.
And there will be no crickets in your kitchen sink.
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(Note: I snapped this sunrise photo from our upstairs terraza about five years back. It still does the same thing. The Goddess is good.)