The Appearance of Cicadas
Jennifer Fandel
Everyone's writing about cicadas for the same reason half-naked women lay across cars while heavy metal plays in the endless video of summertime. They leave their skins behind casually, whole body shells you imagine they climb back inside, resembling lovers who do the same drugs a decade later. But never mind their look. It's their surround, amped in high August when the heat turns up their tymbals and their search for mates escalates. Ill-tuned electric guitars, they roam through sound before hitting on the frequency that strains: We're on the highway to hell. Or maybe Dirty deeds done dirt cheap. When there's no relief from the heat you dreamed of all winter and summer's blacktop is baking the atmosphere, know that cicadas will be there as the world explodes into magmatic chunks blaring our departure, screaming for more.