I live, like many of you do, in cicadaland. The past few weeks we have been witnessing and hearing, the cicada apocalypse. They certainly make an impression. They clumsily bombard us as we open the front door, walk the dog or just exist. But, I don’t mind them too much. After all, they don’t sting or bite and my dog loves the stinky, dead and decaying ones as the perfect snack. I think Zoe thinks of them as glorious lawn Cheetos. And I figure 17 or 13 years is a long time to lie in wait, so they have a lot of living to do once they appear. However, their symphony, can border on the painful if you are outside on a sunny, hot afternoon, when they really get cranking. Then, I have to take refuge inside the house. But usually as the sun disappears they pipe down.
Today it was overcast, and it rained in the afternoon. And the resulting silence was deafening. It made me think of Simon & Garfunkel’s tune The Sound of Silence: “Hello darkness, my old friend I've come to talk with you again…” And all I could think of was, “Yes, and I don’t have to shout in order for you to hear me…”
Remember, it’s not like they are shooting off illegal fireworks every night and in just a few weeks their party will cease.
I’m Rosie Klepper and that’s my perspective.
