Cicada

This baby was drying its wings by the front door this morning. There is still a hint of curl in its right-wing. An hour later it was gone, off to have mad sex for the rest of its life. I could think of worst ways to go. I am adjusting to the new reality of my life. So far, I have opted for two new morning rituals. On Monday, I slept in late, which was good. Today, fresh coffee and morning paper in hand, I sat out on my front steps and watched my neighbors go off to work, bye-bye. Yesterday, I finally mowed the lawn. It was looking a bit shaggy. In recent year, this chore has become increasingly odious, but I’ve managed to persist. I’m bucking a national trend in doing this and locally I can see more and more of my neighbors opt out and employ yard services. This last outing was especially difficult, because a large branch had fallen onto the garage. My neighbor Art, was cleaning his pool on Sunday evening, when he heard first one crack and then another and then saw the branch fall. It wasn’t storming, there was no wind and the branch appeared to be still alive when it fell. It is a mystery why it fell. No damage was done and I cut it up. It filled two bins. Today, I trained my replacement, as I retire from yet another job, lawn care, albeit likely only temporarily. 10 year-old Ethan, Art’s son will be stepping into the breech. His interview brought me full circle, because while I worked professionally for forty years, I also worked an additional ten years, prior to that primarily doing lawns. Mainly, it was a good experience and profitable too, but one of my earliest summers coincided with a peak 17-year cicada hatch. They are dumb bugs. They are big, ugly, scary and stupid bugs. They aren’t even very good fliers. That year, when I was mowing all the noise and dust just served to stir them up and they would then fly right into me, giving me the heebie-jeebies. I pray that Ethan’s work baptism this summer is easier than mine was.