Musing On The Song Of The Cicada

The Cicadas have now gone from East Central Missouri, but I captured their song in early summer. In musing on the song of the cicada, I envision that their tasked here for a short time to possibly balance the frequency of nature. Of course this is only musing, but we can dream, Jeff

Transcript

I remember as a young boy walking through the woods,

Finding lifeless shells of what I now know to be a cicada.

Their hard shells clinging to the bark of a tree,

I'd pick one off and wonder what a strange creature it was.

Not knowing at the time,

It was at the last stage of its life cycle.

Throughout my life I would see these cicadas come,

Hear their song before they disappeared for another seventeen years,

Never thinking of the song of the cicada,

Or were they gone?

But I never found the cicada to be indifferent,

Never a nuisance,

But more of a part of just being.

What if there was a grand purpose,

More than anyone realized or could comprehend?

Perhaps they are by design workers that change the fabric of space and time every seventeen years,

Tools of a grand architect of nature to reshape and tweak our history and our reality,

Like rewriting a code or a software update.

Maybe their songs are even changing the frequency of the entire earth,

Or perhaps the song of the cicada is changing the frequency of each of us to work in a more harmonious way.

Yes,

That's what I'd like to think,

That somehow nature is working together to create a more harmonious universe.

So as my dream of seeking to bring a more positive and peaceful world to each individual,

I'd like to imagine that cicadas are part of this or us all.

I can dare to dream,

And the dream can be shared with those who seek that vision.

I welcome the song of the cicada.

It comes with such a short lifespan,

And who knows,

Possibly bringing great changes.

In my fifty-seven years of life,

Perhaps now I've come to terms with what they are,

Friendly,

Awkward little creatures with no ill intent,

Yet will not be ignored.

Until next time my little friends,

I guess when I'm seventy-four.

And thank you for listening to my musing of the song of the cicada.