Mr. Cricket would leave promptly every day at 5:30 in the evening, dressed in his finest coat, with great elegance and solemnity. It was his duty to lead the start of the nocturnal orchestra, a privilege well-earned due to his fame, discipline, and career as a musician. This made him prosper, and after his successful career, he acquired his house, which was his pride. Mr. Cricket lived in the trunk of a dead cedar tree, the largest, most comfortable, and well-located tree in the entire forest.
«Mr. Cricket, what a privilege to see you this afternoon,» said the wasp just outside the imposing entrance of the tree. «I hope you are doing well this afternoon, Mrs. Wasp,» Mr. Cricket replied cautiously, as it was well known throughout the forest that wasps were often very opportunistic and self-interested. «Let me walk with you to your evening recital, and take advantage of this beautiful afternoon to make you a proposal that I’m sure you will love,» Mr. Cricket’s displeasure and disinterest did not change. Completely mortified, he said, «You see, Mrs. Wasp, I am in a hurry and not eager to cross any boundaries, adhering to my well-known modesty, I doubt that you can offer me anything that really arouses my curiosity.»
The wasp continued with false charm, «Of all the creatures in this forest, winged ones have a special charm; we are able to reach and see what others dream of. Among these wonders is the sunrise; there is no greater privilege than welcoming the dawn. Mr. Cricket, you are famous for your incomparable music; I know you now direct the nocturnal orchestra, but don’t you miss the spotlight on stage? You know very well that the ultimate stage is the treetops towering over all living beings.» Mr. Cricket stopped dead in his tracks. «Are you telling me that someone wants me to sing a solo at dawn?» he said with his two eyes wide open. «Not someone, everyone!» said the wasp mystically. «I was only sent by my kind to extend the invitation. We await you in two days, at dawn, in the tallest tree in the forest, where the stage will be yours,» she concluded and took flight.
It cannot be said that that night and the following two were the best for the nocturnal orchestra directed by Mr. Cricket; his concentration was elsewhere. What was a reality, though, was the excellent acoustics of his huge and beautiful house, where the exhaustive rehearsals that kept him busy all day could be heard. At the dawn of the second day, Mr. Cricket warmed up his strings early and headed to the tallest tree in the forest. At the highest branch, the wasp awaited him with a smile. «There will be no better welcome to the dawn; the stage is yours,» she pointed to the podium, and Mr. Cricket took his place with total respect. Flattered and moved, he began his exquisite singing right at 5:15 in the morning. Within minutes, in the blink of an eye, Mr. Cricket disappeared. A bird alerted by his music plucked him from the branch and devoured him in one bite.
The wasps, however, told the new residents of their nest in the old and majestic cedar tree that Mr. Cricket’s song was so beautiful that the very morning elevated him to where he remained with his kind, among the stars themselves.
Mixpov 