There’s the sound of cicadas, humming and dancing and singing to warmth. Throaty chirps abuzz in harmony, orchestra of din: the symphony of summer. Below the snaking branches and muttering cicadas is a small person! eyes wide and filled with wonder.
Eyes wide and filled with wonder, and maybe nostalgia, too, for muggy days and buzzing nights. Because cicadas are warm June days, broken shells left behind on beige garage doors, sweat sticking to the backs of our legs, taco shops circled once, twice, seven times around the city.