The rhythmic hum overhead gains pace
Thrumming waves filling the sky
A din that builds and builds
Like the thick, hot air
This is the summer of my childhood
Eucalyptus scent, thick with cicada crescendo
These creatures celebrating life, celebrating freedom
After being hidden for so long in a dusty tomb
Encouraging their army from the dry earth
Tiny holes, like a teenager’s pockmarked skin,
Showing where they abandoned the vault in which they had been suspended
Crusty armour discarded underfoot, on blades of grass, on bark, on leaves
No longer needed, as the cicadas unfurl their gossamer wings
Glistening and glinting in the sunlight
To reveal their alliance: Black Prince, Green Grocer, Yellow Mundy, Floury Baker
These were the corps I knew from childhood
But now I only see the dark royals
Making their way towards the sun, and their mates
To join the chorus overhead
An insect choir in unison, celebrating life like there is no tomorrow
This is the sound of summer: the cicada song.
