Sitting down at the river at gloaming, glass of wine in
hand- watching the deep gray, scudding clouds of the storm outskirt. The
Cicadas are almost omnipresent, surrounding me in waves of sound that rise and
fall like great aural tides. They seem to be in every oak tree there, and I am transformed and carried away by their song. Staccato and cacophonous, I am
surrounded by calls for a mate, calls about longing and the brevity of love and
calls in the hope that their genes may enliven another generation. At one
point, when I was equidistant between the house and the river, the 2 populations;
one in the oak trees around the house, and the other an acre away in the oak
trees at the river (they seem not to inhabit the swamp itself), matched each
other in their crescendo, and I felt flanked by armies of stereophonic song. I
have always been fond of these odd insects- from their final nymph instar, the
dried skeletons left behind on the trunks of trees like glassine ghosts, to the
adults- hard to catch and buzzing quite angrily when tried. My sister and I
used to prize the nymphal skeletons and would wear them proudly on our shirts. The
adults, also referred to as imago (what a lovely name), are a strange amalgamation
of insectile tank, bulgy alien eyes and wings worthy of the most beautiful
fairy. The ones currently singing in our yard are likely Tibicen auletes, also called the dusk-calling cicada. Cicadas
(males only) produce their amazing loud sounds from structures called tymbals
on the sides of the abdominal base. The ones in Florida live for about 3-5
years, with the majority of their life spent underground. The adults emerge in
summer, and live brief but loud and glorious lives. Cicadas have been seen as
symbols both of insouciance (very short lives) and reincarnation. The photos
below are of an adult I captured just as it was dying.
Prose from carcasses...I do love the way you write! Seems that I, too, recall " calls for a mate, calls about longing.." but that was then. Now am wondering when you'll have us over for that wine at gloaming, after the humidity say. Anyhow, on my sidewalk to our mailbox, I spotted a baby Diadophis Punctatus Punctatus, commonly known as Southern Ringtail snake. I say I love nature but I don't love seeing snakes. First thought was "poisonous?". Second thought, "hatchet?". Thanks to your influence, I looked him/her up and got educated rather than murderous, which isn't really in my normal character. So, today, you helped save a little life. Thought you might like to know. B
ReplyDeleteWhoops, meant ringneck, not ringtail. Blasted self-correcting cell phone.
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