Nearly two tears ago, here on Blogger, I
published an entry about cicadas that includes the mini essay by
E.B. White which is posted directly below.
"
At eight of a hot morning, the cicada speaks his first piece. He says of the world: heat. At eleven of the same day, still singing, he has not changed his note but has enlarged his theme. He says of the morning: love. In the sultry middle of the afternoon, when the sadness of love and of heat has shaken him, his symphonic soul goes into the great movement and he says: death. But the thing isn't over. After supper he weaves heat, love, death into a final stanza, subtler and less brassy than the others. He has one last heroic monosyllable at his command. Life, he says, reminiscing. Life."
Over the past few weeks, maybe even several weeks while hearing cicadas the essay always comes to my mind. Now, on this throwback Thursday, I'd like to share with you the
Mutts comic strip atop this entry where a cicada points out not much has changed since he/she went underground and that insect is absolutely right.
Meanwhile, in the aforementioned posting I also stated (and included a copy of the same picture used at the conclusion of this entry) "
Additionally, a web-page for the Home Depot (which includes the image directly below) states:
"If you live anywhere from the Midwest to the East Coast and you’ve ever been outdoors in spring, chances are that you have heard the distinctive sound of the annual cicada. The tinny buzzing sound seems to go on forever, but it really only lasts for a few weeks in late spring. This year though, the love song of the cicada will become a deafening roar for people from North Carolina all the way up to New England when billions of the Brood II Magicicada species emerge from deep beneath the earth for their time in the sun – an event that only happens once every 17 years."
