I miss them. There I said it. A few weeks ago I had my first encounter with the infamous 13-year cicadas. When I moved to Murfreesboro a year ago, a new friend of mine told me about these creatures and being new here I assumed that my leg was being pulled. She explained that these bugs would come out of the ground and trees and simply take over the city. She said that they would be everywhere–couldn’t escape or avoid them. They would hit your car as you drive as though it were raining them, they would enter you cars and home, and their carcasses would cover the city for weeks. Yeah, right. I was born at night, but not last night.
Than they came. I had forgotten about that conversation and then I had my first sighting. I remember where I was and how astounded I was at the sheer size of this thing. Then it came back to me. She was right! At first it wasn’t so bad and I settled in to deal with the situation. Then the floodgates opened. They surreptitiously entered both my car and my home by hitching rides on my shoe or my back. Once I was in my car and heard this sound that made me wonder how a hummingbird got in here! And there it was. I had to pull off and get it out before I hurt myself or some innocent bystander(s). That was only the first time. I got used to entering my car very quickly and to looking over my shoulder like I was the one-armed man in The Fugitive.
Than one day, just as suddenly, they were gone. There was no constant song, no buzzing, no carcasses, no sneak attacks. They were just gone. And I missed them. I’d actually gotten used to and charmed a bit by them. Having been on earth as long as I have and experienced and read as widely as much as I had, I was taken that I’d never seen or really heard or taken note of them. Now I had experienced them, gotten used to them, and had to deal with “cicada withdrawal.”
Depending on who you ask, they are loved, hated, or just ignored . Some even made them a culinary delicacy. Haven’t gotten there yet, but when the 17-year ones come, maybe…