I have a cricket. His ceaseless chirping is unbelievably loud, especially at three-OMG-thirty-in-the-morning in the resonance chamber that is my bathroom. I cannot believe anything so tiny can make such a racket. Gryllus assimilis “pavarotticus”.
I cannot be too critical of his singing, though. He is, after all, just being a cricket. To do any less, to be any quieter, he would not be living up to his “cricketness”.
How true for us as well. When we are not expressing the individual talents each of us have been given, when we are not disrupting the existing state of affairs with our singing (or writing, painting, dancing, or just plain existing) then we are not living up to our humanness.
So, little cricket, you are one lucky little bug– I just can’t come after you this morning with a can of Raid. You get to be a cricket for another day. Now sing!