Cicada Summer

Cicada Summer

My eyes were sealed by sound.

The roar of the cicadas had broken my walk and train of thought. The blare was banging on my ears so loudly that I stopped to listen. I was surrounded, and they shouted their power upon me in chorus. There were hundreds–maybe thousands–infusing me with the energy of summer. They seemed to be everywhere, except maybe behind closed doors, and even then I was sure the sound could break through.

I stood and absorbed it, feeling hot and restored at the same time.

When I opened my eyes, the tree in front of me was full of the translucent shells they had left behind. The cicadas were a very earthly presence, although remained unseen. Were they camouflaged somewhere in the art of the tree? Where had they gone? They had left behind their voices instead of their bodies.

The cicadas made such a strong sound together that they had become a shrieking army. They preferred to scream at the heat instead of taking the blame. for their reaction. 

And I wondered: had the heat started because they had raised it with their voices? Or, was it because of the heat that they needed a release? 

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

Photo: "Neotibicen linnei linne's annual cicada" by Tibor Nagy is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.