The Zen of Cicada Watching

I moved her sandbox to alleviate the need for trimming around it.  Underneath it was the usual suspects--a few slugs, a few crickets, some rollie polies, and a cicada still in his shell.

He was actually pretty in an unusual way; he was thrashing his legs and feet through his brown, toughened skin.  I think removing the sandbox startled him. He'd have a hell of a time getting out from under the sandbox, so I picked him up and relocated him.  I placed him gently near the base of the apple trees where the doves decided to nest.  He seemed to flounder a bit. I hope he's moved on--I want him to live.  I want him to shed his skin and show his pretty pearlescent white underbelly, a stark contrast to his shiny, emerald green body.  They have large black eyes but no mouths; they don't eat as adults, and so Emily isn't afraid of them even when they fly clutzily into her.  Most importantly, I want him to sing.  He deserves to feel the sunlight filtering through the trees while he announces the end of a season.  In Philadelphia, we know summer is fading when the cicadas begin their siren calls. He deserves a mate, too.  No bug should be alone.

Emily and I watched a cicada once journey to the base of a tree, walking slowly in his brown armor.  It was just after dusk, and I noticed him.  She was enraptured by his slow progress; his determination was what I admired.  I brought out a flashlight so we could watch him climb the trunk of the tree.  He was going to pick a spot to shed his skin, and we found a shell a few days later hanging on the bark of the pear tree.  "Is it his, Mommy?" she asked.  "I bet it is, Em."  Whenever she would hear the cicadas' calls, she said that it was her friend that was the loudest of them all.  It probably was; he was one determined bug.

I was given advice once that in order to accomplish anything you need to just focus on the one thing that you're doing and not look at the bigger picture because it's overwhelming.  As I mowed half of my yard that was way too overgrown, I just focused on the patch that I was mowing.  I finished half of it last night, and I was pretty calm instead of being frazzled.

The zen of cicacada watching and lawn mowing, or living in the moment--whatever you want to call it--it's almost the state of being that I need to live in 24/7 so I don't become more frazzled.

I'm pretty frazzled, though.

"Who do you need/who do you love/when you come undone?"