I am four years old. Well, cicada years at least. When I was 17, it was a cicada year and I did the math. I was born in a cicada year. It was the cicada symphony that got me thinking about the relationship, and for all those reasons you cannot understand, I remember when I made the connection. Sunday school of all places. It was in the summer and we took our class outside into the picnic woods. But the symphony was loud that day as it is as I write this.
The early part of my life, my mother and I lived with my grandparents on the family farm while my Dad served in the Army. My house was built on the same family farm, just down the hill. As a baby, must have been serenaded by the progenitors of the same cicadas I hear today. Can’t say I remember, I was 0 years old. But the connection I feel with the song I hear was formed back then as I lay in the crib, or when my great grandmother held me, as I probably wasn’t allowed to cry very often.
So I have survived through 4 cicada life cycles. I can only hope I get to see the fifth. Every appearance is welcomed by a vastly different world than the last. Let’s hope the next one is greeted by a better one..
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