Simple Wonders

As I tarry about the garden, peeking here and there and under leaves for hidden treasures --simple wonders-- I'm finding vestiges of the nymph stage of the cicada. Yet many of these vestiges lie in plain sight firmly affixed to rubber tires and brick walls or any surface the nymph can attach to as they are about to begin the molting process from their old "skins" or exoskeletons into the adult stage. I imagine they must need a firm grip as they push their way out. 

    One recent morning my husband happened upon a cicada attached to a tire and in the process of molting. Rare is the chance to watch one emerge from its skin.

                                     

Every now and then we could see it wiggle its way out slightly,
taking its time, rhythmically, as if having labor contractions. 

After emerging, the wings are still folded. 

The wings slowly unfurled . . . 

revealing beautiful, lace-like wings. 

It's colors were like gems, green with shiny gold, 

It's features so intricately detailed. 

The sound of the cicada provides a near constant hum, so noticeable here compared to other places I've been. Many have written about the song of the cicada such as this poem by David Granville.

Cicada Songs  (for "Cicada Mania")

by David Granville

They say your songs

portend the end of summer

just as chirping robins

usher in the spring air.

Listen to the sound

whirring, buzzing through

leaves of trees that shelter

the thrumming brood.

Insect monks chant

hymns of nature

for us and for

their silent females: “mate her.”

More musical than electric currents

that hum along power lines,

your symphony hovers,

guarding the sultry night like armored palatines.

Constant and pervasive,

we humans sometimes hear

sometimes ban your frequencies,

lulled to sleep by drums so dear.

Air conditioners and headphones

drown out your beautiful noise

but others sing with you

till Fall’s frost steals these little joys.

-DFG