The 17-year-cicadas are gone, and have been for a while, burrowed back into the ground or littering backyards and driveways with their dried-up carcasses.
But now the regular cicadas, the every-year-non-special-non-exciting-cicadas, are here.
When the 17-year-cicadas were here, I didn't care. For some reason, they weren't drawn to our side of Kettering. They segregated themselves to practically all other parts of southern Ohio. Fine with me. I listened to other people complain about them, particularly my mother, who had to dodge them, and the birds foaming at the mouth to eat them, every day at work. I thought they were kind of fun, probably because I only saw them when I was driving down certain Kettering streets and they'd sort of float around, bumping off of cars.
But the regular cicadas seem to like our side of Kettering. I haven't actually seen any, but I have heard, oh let's say, all of them. And because of the unusually cool weather (it's 67 degrees right now, at NOON in AUGUST) we've had our windows open. Which is nice, apart from the deafening sound of cicadas.
Yesterday, I think there was a dying one on our back porch, right under my window, because it was making the same noise only it sounded like someone was stepping on it to squeeze the sound out.
Pleasant, right?
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