Only the cicada song fills the evening air now.
No longer do I hear the roosters' crows, the squawks as a rooster protects the roost, the cries of a young, smaller rooster being chased by a larger one, the flapping wings of roosters flying over the fence to escape the more dominant birds.
The ratio in the young chicken house was all wrong: five young females to six young males. When puberty hit, the cock fighting began. For the past two weeks, it had gotten worse, and I'd found a few roosters with bloody combs.
So, I made the phone call and scheduled an appointment to send six roosters - four young and two old -- to the butcher.
We now have 17 hens, two cockerels and two chicks (one whom I suspect may be a male).
The crowing is seldom now.
So, I sit on the back porch reading in the quickly fading light, listening to the cicadas' song, knowing that that too will soon be gone.