THE SOMBER CRINKLE of yellowing leaves left the cricket lost in a soup of melancholy. He tried rubbing his wings together but – nothing. His song was silent.
Jumping to a higher branch, the cricket spied a round fruit dangling from one of the shorter trees. Its shriveled leaves fluttered around its fruit like wings of butterfly corpses. Most of the other orbs had decayed, hollow and sunken in like skulls. But one – one – was still as full and shiny as the moon.
The cricket hopped down to it. Rubbing its antenna over the summery rind, he felt the sad soup evaporate; a sour sweetness boosted his morale. The cricket rubbed his wings together. His renewed song thrummed around the fruit, a friendly and lively heartbeat in this desolate land.
Written: 31 March 2016
Inspired: a birthday and not wanting it to end after the first paragraph. It was suppose to post at 9:10 am.