 |
| showing off his (her?) cool new wings |
Cicadas emerge
Seventeen years underground
Reborn in the spring
Useless husks traded for wings
and a brief taste of the air
 |
| hatched cicada and empty cicada shells |
*
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen
4 comments:
oy was in baltimore during an infestation/invasion whatever you want to call it...they would ping off the buildings and crunch under foot all day...
Lovely pics and lovely lines:)
Nothing says Summer like cicadas.
When I was little, we used to collect the husks after they had hatched. As weird as it sounds this boogers make me nostalgic... They remind me of simpler times, I guess, when my little sister was still living. Funny the things that remind us of things.
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