One and a half months ago, they warned us about a heat wave, but we’ve been under all three alert levels—yellow, orange, and red—since early June. I don’t think this is just a heat wave; it’s what it’s come to: scorching summers that start in spring and last who knows how long. Spring and fall are getting shorter, and it either pours or doesn’t rain at all.

I’ve never heard crickets chirping so fast. Did you know crickets are like little thermometers? The hotter it is, the faster they chirp, but that’s not the only amazing thing they do—they also communicate with each other. Here’s something I experienced a few days ago:

It was already sweltering early in the morning. I was so annoyed by the heat and by the crickets’ loud chorus—sounding like rusty hinges—that I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts. So I figured, “Well, if I can’t beat my enemies, I’ll join them,” and sat down to rest as if I were in the audience.

Two minutes later, they suddenly stopped chirping all at once—just like a choir pausing at the conductor’s signal. At first, I thought it was because of me, but two seconds later I heard a single, distant chirp. It was probably the dominant male, chirping loudly while all the others remained silent—like a soloist taking the stage. Once the solo ended, the chorus resumed.

What that lone cricket was saying—or what they were up to—slips my imagination. But one thing is clear: something is changing. Call it “climate change”, “climate evolution,” or "the new normal," if you will, but it’s something animals can sense.