I'm back on the east coast.

This afternoon as I walked home, I heard the crickets in the little flowering plants along the path, like hundreds of chiming bells. The sun was finally shining, and the perfume of fresh-cut grass drifted into the air, and I knew summer hadn't let go yet.

Now I'm in bed, but the crickets are still singing outside my window. The woods ring with their chorus. Trees make the best concert hall.