I resurrected (pun intended) a Meechie Mail from 2016. Of course, my facts were off then (this was before “alternative facts,” so I didn’t want to say that), because it wasn’t the periodical Brood X hatching now all over the all over; likely the regular annual, bi- or tri-annual variety.
I have to say, my whole self — my perspective, my comportment, my patience — has changed toward cicadas. I’ve even come to appreciate how absolutely exquisite their wings are.
So, here’s to the cicadas … buzz on, children, buzz on.
Monday, April 18, 2016
Meechie Mail #4
Hey, You …
I read somewhere recently that our beloved cicadas are queued to make a return appearance in D.C. soon.
I hate them.
And I struggle with God as to His plan on this one.
For one they are not very intelligent, can barely support their own weight with their wings, and die within a few days of hatching, mating, and blindly running into people, pets, and things wanting nothing to do with them (sounds like a few guys I’ve dated).
So, I tried to employ some of this mindfulness I’ve been learning and sought to learn more about these of God’s creatures.
Turns out (according to Wikipedia) cicadas’ principle benefit is to bolster the animal population, because they are a delicacy to four-legged and some two-legged animals. Cicadas also fertilize the ground as they lay their eggs and the larvae burrow in.
I don’t know if any of this was particularly important to my self-improvement aside from the moment of compassion I felt to think … 17 years without daylight might render me blind, bulbous, and useful only for death, too. And, useful for consumption by those who I feel are bigger than me. Even those who aren’t my natural predators.
I started feeling sorry for the godforsaken Tibicen Linnei, Magicicada cassini variety on the East Coast (y’all know I looked that up … because … welp…).
And then I thought that on some days — most days, lately — I’m a damn cicada.
Not particularly attractive in the moment.
Loud as hell.
And, useful to others only to attack and destroy.
The latter bothered me most.
I mean, has there ever been a rogue cicada who has defied all manner of rules to declare, “I want to live!”
If I were that cicada, the next question I’d have to ask myself is … To do what?
I’m her now. I’m that cicada.
Sitting here. Hatched. Destined to do one thing. Know I’m going to die (eventually, anyway). But dammit, I’m doing my thing, y’all.
Ugly as hell. And ok with it all.
I want to live.
And, I’m going to do it loud as hell.