July 11

In Michigan

Perhaps there is Karma.

It must be a mast year for cicadas (I think the 17 year emergent is indeed this year, though the apocryphal predictions of cicadas blanketing everywhere simply hasn’t happened). Still, there do seem to be more adults just now, and the trees have what appear to be greater numbers of molt casings upon them. We have yet to have the chorus calls that hallmark their full maturity, and I am thankful at this point; cicada calls mean the ending of summer and the coming of the fall. As it is, this season has gone too quickly, and there is still much to savor. We do hear sparse calls in the afternoons now, furtive still as if testing their ability.

I went out on the lake in a kayak this evening, making my way slowly to the middle a mile or so out then back, simply to enjoy the calm of the water and to watch the water striders dance on the surface.

I was distracted more by the cicadas that were floating upside down on their wings, still alive through given to exhaustion. There were two dozen or so on my paddle out and back, and I felt compelled to stop, lower the paddle underneath the insect at each instance, so that it could right itself, and lift it to the rear of the boat. There it would shake its wings vigorously for a moment before sitting still in a perch on the side.

By the time I returned to shore, I had over a dozen still sitting on the back. Some had taken flight during the return trip, making a buzzing sound while lifting off and heading out overhead toward the shore.