This is meant to be an apocalyptic year for cicadas—two separate broods are emerging from years of subterranean hibernation and singing the song of their people to large swathes of the United States. (I reported on Brood X three years ago, as they passed through the People’s Republic.)
But those swathes are largely in the Midwest,
so I think we won’t have many here.
So far, one of my friends shared a photo of a
cicada shell in her yard, and this guy flopped in my path one morning a couple
of weeks ago and gave up the ghost.
I have to say that I’m not really sorry—we have
enough to contend with this summer, what with the election and the monster heat
dome.
Enjoy the music, Ohio. You owe us for Vance.
©2024 Bas Bleu
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