Little sister Eilene and I were looking, with amazed eyes, at the blooming desert flowers in the grey rock garden expanses near Kenneth Bi Dzi/l. We heard a cricket, and we started to look for him. He was sitting under a flat, gray tsé´ áwozí. Strange, it seemed, that he would be making a noise in the heat of a late spring afternoon.
Eilene took the rock off the cricket; the cricket was black and shiny. Exposed to the light, our interruption, ("pardon us") he stopped singing, and ran around looking for shade. Eilene put back his roof. The cricket took a breath and resumed his singing.
Sometimes, I see the black, shiny cricket so suited to have sung the first note of the song of creation; in dark directionless space, everyone waiting, then one chirp to make an announcement, "K´ iz . . . something is happening. We are becoming!" Nahak´ ízii.
Irene Nakai. "Story of a Cricket: Spring 1978" printed by permission of the author. Copyright ©1980 by Irene Nakai.
As printed in Larry Evers, ed. The South Corner of Time. Tucson, Ariz.: The University of Arizona Press, ©1980, p. 51.