the cicada symphony sets today’s rhythm
and expectation
it’s a day best suited for gills and exoskeletons
sloughing off this skin
one drop of sweat at a time
unsure of what the rebirth will look like
or if this will be the waking from a dream
Tag Archives: cicadas
Day Book: 3 March 22
“A cicada taught a young dove, saying with a laugh…” – Chuang Tzu
When I was 10 I saw a legion of 17-year cicadas fly against the wall-sized window of a car dealership in Southern Indiana. If hitting the glass didn’t kill them the first time, they just kept flying towards it.
I think about this whenever Amanda and I talk about living in Capitalism.
At this point, it’s not even about learning something, being shown something. We know. At this point, it’s just being hammered by the same truth over and over. The spiritual equivalent of a cicada’s life. Brief. Seasonal. Forward. Learned but not wise.
The problem isn’t the big glass window. The problem isn’t that we’re cicadas.
The problem is we’re doves. Laughing cicadas have nothing to teach.
Brood X
what’s left of summer then
cherry tomatoes dying thirsty on sunburned vines
the rose of sharon still blooms for benefit
of butterflies and honey bees
the sparrows have returned and we get just enough rain
that the yard needs mowing
we survived the cicada year counting dead robins
counting too the ones too stubborn to just die
blind wing damaged brain broke but defiant
fighting the ground just another exoskeleton that needs abandoning
some reminder some remaining marginalia