The Cricket

Robin Reichert
2 min readOct 12, 2019


I open this lap box of metal and plastic,

This small, inconsequential portion of my breath and being,

And it opens me to worlds of potential

And magic…really.

I forget it is still possible to walk down dark streets

Inside this little box;

Streets where listless monsters wait to try and steal my peace,

And defame anyone who crosses into their cyber space,

With a thought or idea,

New and different from their own.

With one all-too-quick emotion-fired click of a button,

The lonely monster on the dark cyber street

Projects its unhealed wounds on the unsuspecting,

Momentarily numbed to the flesh and blood human

At the other end of that fiery finger tap,

A person they see only as a flat screen image…

Someone they don’t know,

Someone they think they don’t really want to know,

Yet are screaming from inner depths to know,

Someone more like them than they realize.

If only they took a breath,

Rubbed the sleep from their eyes,

Remembered the things everyone wants —

To be heard, to be loved.

Just when I think every, last ounce of compassion and understanding,

Has been wrung from my fountain,

A voice rises up and across a soft breeze,

Above all other voices.

I follow the sound

Of an angel…a messenger from paradise,

Out my back door,

Into the Light,

Slow and steady.

“Where is it?”

I think as I scout around in the grass.

Her voice grows louder, sweeter,

Beckoning me away

From all recognition of,

Flat postage stamp images and sleeping monsters.

“Where are you?”

She quiets for a second or two.

But then her voice soars up,

Through the branches above my head,

And becomes a chant.

“Surrender. Surrender. Surrender.”

And I find her there at last,

Little. Black. Beauty.

Seemingly oblivious that she has

only five legs instead of six.

She knows I am there and demonstrates

Her other purpose in calling me…

With determination she traverses green blades,

White clover, purple smartweed,

And all manner of obstacles,

Singing every inch of the way,

And a gentle rain begins,

To fill my well.

***Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this article, I invite you to test how many times can you hit the clapping hands to your immediate left in 5, 10, or 60 seconds. It’s one more way to keep your fingers in shape AND will help other people see the story. Writing is my passion, so thanks for your help in spreading my work to others!

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Robin Reichert

Author, Earth Divine - Adventures of an Everyday Mystic speaker/storyteller, peace alchemist, artist, award-winning story Transformed,