Shells

I don't know why, but I always feel special when I find cicada shells.

It's like I just discovered something amazing! Even though they're everywhere. I don't care though, every one is special and I hunker down and examine it. The thing I don't really understand is that I've never seen a cicada before it comes out of it's shell.

You know? Those shells belong to un-winged, squatty, bugs. Cicadas have beautiful iridescent long wings. I've seen them. So where are the cicadas pre-shell emerging?

Am I looking over some nondescript bug thinking, I should squash that? Summer porch sitting wouldn't be the same without cicadas, I hope I'm not squishing the babies.

The summer of 2004, I went to a retreat in Maryland. It was the summer of the 17-year cicadas. You know, the ones that emerge every seventeen years from the ground. IT WAS SO WEIRD. They were everywhere. There were more cicadas than flies. As we drove down the interstate surrounded by traffic the sound of the cicadas buzzing permeated through all the other sounds. We could hear them inside our van though the windows, past our conversation, past the air conditioner and past all the other road sounds. Those babies were singing. Twenty-four, seven. All day. All night. All the time. Then they were flying all over us.

It was really quite disgusting.

I still feel special when I find their shells though.