Summer isn’t Summer until the Cicada Sing

Summer in Alabama is hot. No, not just hot, humid. Humidity so thick, your brow breaks at first contact. It’s like a wall of fresh-raked drywall.  But as hot as it gets, as early in the year as it gets, Summer isn’t Summer until the cicada sing.

Cicada are amazing little critters. They can lull you to sleep when the humidity is just right. They can wake you up in the early morning with their screaming. They can top trees and crawl grounds.

Summer isn’t Summer until the cicada sing.

They’ll eat beans They don’t sting. They just sing.

On a mostly humid night, windows open, ears open, the cicada make me sleep.



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  1. Uh Oh! Are you turning into one of those “poets what don’t know it but their feet show it they’re Longfellows”?

  2. Have always been, Chris. Mayhaps.

  3. Ah! Reminds me of the time I spent in Georgia and Tennessee. Each year we had an invasion of “mayflies”, and they would cover everything with their massive numbers. They would mate during the night and die wherever they were after mating. We used to get rid of them with shovels and barrels.

  4. There is no happiness like that of being loved by your these returning vnhxtrrpczayd was very pleasant or desirable no magnet drew me.

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