First day of a dry high. Sunlight seeping down the trees. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the cicadas have started up.
cicadas
Saturday August 20, 2022
Sun through a scrim of cloud. The first white snakeroot is in bloom. A Linne’s cicada rattles like a bad engine.
Tuesday August 24, 2021
A stratum of sunlit leaves forming in the forest understory. A cicada wakes up. Under the house, something coughs.
Monday August 09, 2021
Sunny and humid. The electric whine of annual cicadas ebbs and flows. A hummingbird flies into the forest’s wall of leaves at top speed.
Thursday August 25, 2016
The cicada chorus ebbs and swells. I notice the big tulip tree has shed all its drought-yellowed leaves from a month ago and is green again.
Saturday July 23, 2016
As the heat builds, the cicadas’ electric drills fall silent one by one. Coneflowers wilt until they look like yellow jellyfish.
Thursday June 09, 2016
A weird cry, like an alarm clock keening for consummation: a lone 17-year cicada, far from the main body of its brood. It stops. It resumes.
Monday August 31, 2015
In the course of an hour, the only bird calls are from a couple of crows. But there are four kinds of crickets, a cicada, a distant jet.
Saturday August 15, 2015
Hazy and warm. As the sun climbs, the cicada chorus grows, and the field cricket in the garden chirps faster and faster.
Sunday August 09, 2015
Workmen up at the other house: the whine of an annual cicada in the trees alternates with an actual electric saw.
Monday August 03, 2015
A cicada lies on its back on the porch, legs churning the air. I turn it over and the dog gives it a good, close reading with her nose.
Monday July 13, 2015
Backlit by the sun against the dark woods, a swarm of lekking gnats, their Brownian motion now faster, now slower. An annual cicada’s whine.
Friday September 05, 2014
It’s hot. At last the annual cicadas sound fully charged. The air is alive with tiny insects in non-intersecting orbits back-lit by the sun.
Thursday August 28, 2014
A cicada starts his electric saw and stops. It’s too cold for cicadas. The sky’s a deep blue. A walnut leaf curled like a boat floats down.