the beauty is in what keeps you tied here

My house sounds like a broken cat. I know it looks like I meant to write ‘car’ and then fell victim to a typo, but I meant cat. There is a strange noise that is always just outside of my dining room window. I can’t figure it out and it grates at me all day long while I’m writing. Sometimes I think it is the ghost of dead wood. This house is old. Built in the 20s when Ohio was full of industry from the lake and coal from the electric rail cars. But something is purring outside, a miserable sigh. Like it wants me to find something out about this place that I didn’t know about before today, or the day before, or a week ago when I first heard it. The crickets have started now, their dress rehearsal for evening. The broken cat has left, for now. Perhaps it is soothed by the metronomic high pitched thud of the crickets. Maybe not. Today when I was on my run, I was nearly assassinated by a wasp. I must have looked crazed, running in the bicycle lane, swatting at my back with my hands. And the faster that I ran, the more quickly my swats swirled around my head, and I eventually tangled myself completely in my earphone wires. But I didn’t slow down. The wasp followed me and I didn’t slow down, I just ignored her. After about three minutes, I was far enough away from the scent of her hive and she went back to her flowers where she felt safe. I am so glad that Fall is coming with all of its teeth. The crickets have stopped and whatever swinging broken thing is back. I should stop writing now and move away from the window, so I can ignore the sound for another day.