Cicadas

It's time for cicadas! Although I enjoy the quiet, calm, and distant sounds of the annual cicadas, I can't wait for the Magicicada genus of cicadas to emerge from their seventeen-year slumber.

I was eight years old the last time it happened. I left Oklahoma to land in West Virginia to the rhythmic chatter of cicadas and hundreds of discarded exoskeleton shells all over the place. To an science-loving but entomophobic young lad, the experience was simultaneously exciting and nightmarish. But, now it is time again.

I was eight years old then.

17 years since the last wave of cicadas.

17 years since my father passed away.

I had not realized that until just now.

Will the summertime arthropod orchestra bring auditory-linked reminiscences of days long past?
Will they cause me to remember things I'd forgotten since I saw my father last?
Will the sight of obviated insect shells bring mental sight unfurled?
Will they give me pause to wonder what facade I show to the world?

17 years--the average time it takes to get from first steps on the carpet to last steps in the high school graduation march.

I can't believe I just got a lesson in memories and time from noisy bugs.