These days, at most times during the day and night, I hear the high-pitched buzzing of the cicadas that are everywhere around me. So far, they are not too thick, averaging something like one every ten feet on the ground. I’ve only found one on the deck at the back of my house, and only one has attached itself to a door screen. The weather, against all expectations, has not gotten warmer, and it’s not supposed to be over ninety degrees anytime in the next three or four days. From what I read, I’m assuming the cicadas will not come out in force until it gets much warmer.
Or maybe the cicadas are fewer in this part of the world. I tried to remember their last appearance seventeen years ago or, for that matter, any time in my life. I don’t remember ever having encountered cicadas, so they probably weren’t numerous enough to make much of an impression on me.
I don’t object to the cicadas. In fact, they intrigue me. And even the din of their buzzing is not loud enough to penetrate my house when I close the doors and windows. So for me, the presence of these strange insects is no more than momentary entertainment. Maybe if their numbers grow, I might find them objectionable. I’ll wait and see.