Jimminy, Jimminy, chip on my knee

Sometimes people make the most powerful statements when theyve put nothing into words. And so was it the case with mother's power of wordless but maybe unintended persuasion on the subject of the cricket. cricket - the insect like a miniature grasshopper. while our child instincts directed us as toddlers to be jumpy or vampish with insects, we were particularly sure that we would like to jump as much as a cricket and fake outrage in the presence of one. But more than thrice, we observed that when mother and a cricket were around with our instincts and kid persons, we were compelled to look up to her face and find that her eyes found an established gravity. Her eyes directed us to be solemn. Her aura told us we were in the definite presence of something silent and divine. It must not be touched, troubled or distracted in its momentous way. Tweetypots, our eldest sister bot, was sometimes found cupping a cricket in her sepal palms, even before mum had made indications. I guess it took an eye and age to know some truth. Now for some reason as the toddler trio, we identified each cricket by the very personalized name of Jimminy. 'Theres a Jimminy in my shoe!' 'There a Jimminy in the cupboard!' and so on. The point that must not be forgotten above all, is that, we were solemn and serious in their mystical and deified company. So it was that yesterday as I sat on the chamberpot in the morning, only 10 cm ahead of me, was presnted the backside view of a dapper cricket. It had the texture and color of a chip of hazelnut wood. I dont know why it chose to show me its backside. Maybe I had show it mine once. But iggy became solemn and proceeded decorously. It wasnt until yesterday night that it struck me that that little view of the backside of the cricket was an image whose spirit had squatted upon my perception that whole day. Until i remembered it again that night.
The might of a cricket.