Just Crickets And Forest Drip

As autumn begins revealing its colors, there is still a pleasing insect chorus at night in the forested hills of upstate New York. In late September, after an evening thunderstorm passes through the area, I visit nearby Shindagin Hollow in search of soundscapes that move me. Well after midnight, the sky clears. A half-moon illuminates the forest, gently filtered through light fog. I stand silently next to a small ravine. Leaves are wet and dripping steadily. Tree crickets trill from all directions, and spring peepers call sporadically, even though their breeding season is long pass. At times, a barred owl hoots from way off in the distance, barely audible. I feel fully embraced by this lovely, nurturing soundscape. There is nothing to analyze, nothing to think about, nothing to hold on to. There is only a sense of deep immersion, complete surrender, and effortless communion with this extraordinary place and time.