11 May 2007

Cicada

This morning Rob called me outside to look at my dollar store windsock, the one that is perhaps intended to be a grinning, swimming Esther Williams type, but more closely resembles a woman having a nervous breakdown. So on my bright nylon screamer's red streamer there was a teeny tiny cicada, perfect and newly emerged from its now-potato chip shell (which we didn't have the good fortune to spot). It was catching its buggy breath and waiting for the sun to rise high enough in the sky to warm its perch and help it prepare for flight. Aw! If only the Atlantic Ocean hadn't spoilt my camera, I would have snapped a shot of our little friend and posted it here. I mean, I've lived in Utah for how many years? 26 now? and this is the first cicada I can remember seeing. They were a big part of my North Carolina childhood, right up there with lightning bugs. I loved them. Funny to find a small one today, when my mind is a couple thousand miles from here, hanging around my old Southern home. Just for you (okay, more for me), I borrowed some cicada pictures from the abundant internet universe, in case you've never met even a small one.

Unlike this guy, our little pal was all black.

Bodyguard or terrorist? You decide.

8 comments:

Mirjam said...

I'm so glad you are back! It is a glorious day. I got up early and did some planting.... Lovely Blog, by the way. Oh ja: Terrorist, for sure.

Jamie said...

Oh, oh, I love this story! I love it! Little things like that, to me, are hugs from Jesus! Hug Him back!

I am so glad you are home, Geo, and I look forward to hearing about your journey and seeing any photos that might have survived the Atlantic. Things have been crazy here with 6 of 9 people sooo sick, but I caught a glimpse yesterday of your photo with Her Royal Ladybug at your favorite department store and it made my barfy soul so happy. What a treasure!

I thought of you both yesterday when I ventured out to Community Closet thrift store to buy vases in which to give my visit teachees pink tulips from my garden. I took Addie and my nieces with me, and as we walked in, I wished we had a nice DI like the Provo one instead of an exceedingly stinky (yet pretty awesome anyway) thrift store. Then right there near the front door, under a donated canopy patio set, a little girl named Azalea was hacing a birthday party. She was wearing a crown and sitting on a chair bedecked with a vine of fake magnolias. When her mother introduced her to my girls, they thought her name was strange and I told them, "It's a pretty flower you've never seen," and her mom said, "Yeah, I wish they grew here, but they only grow where it's warm." *sigh* The girl and her magnolia throne reminded me of Carolina, which reminded me of you AND of all the warm and sunny memories I have of NC. I was only there for a total of 27 months, but a little piece of my heart is there. It's the first and only place I have ever seen lightnin' bugs like Christmas trees. mmmm...

compulsive writer said...

I understand what it's like to wax nostalgic for your childhood home. A couple of weeks ago when it was all rainy and misty and cloudy and so green for spring I reminisced about rainy days in the Pacific Northwest and people grumbled about the rain but it made me warm and happy. And now reading about your cicada made me go there all over again.

Thank you!

liz said...

I felt this similar joy in seeing a pack of dragon flies this week.

It had been 7 years since I had seen on in person. I never noticed before how delicate and perfect they are.

Melody said...

I never met one. Thanks for the introduction. And thanks for sharing. I love it when Jesus hugs like that.

Body guard or terrorist...you crack me up.

And the photo of you and Anna is priceless.

Geo said...

Friends are popping up in my comments section! Hurrah!

Chemical Billy said...

My memories of Provo summers are heavy with the sound of cicadas, but I don't ever remember seeing one! They're elusive creatures in those parts, so I suspect this is a gentle, sweet omen. A wee hello from the infinite...

Geo said...

billy: Much preferred to a wee-wee hello from the infinite . . . .