Today was tooth-trim day for Lola, so we headed up to Wilmette to see the bunny doctor. I was turning down a side street that I usually use as a turn-around, and a noise came through the open window of my car. It was..exactly..like the noise made by the spaceships in the original War of The Worlds movie.
I pulled the car over in this tony neighborhood lined with tall trees, and stepped out of the car. The air pulsed with spaceship noise, and I saw the cicadas flying from branch to branch. I looked down at the grass and saw it was littered with the bodies of dead cicadas. I saw one, still alive, walking through the blades. I picked up a branch, scooped it up, and got a closer look. They have these sci-fi opaque red eyes, like the ends of very large straight pins.
Pretty much all of the locals I talk to speak of cicadas as if they are the plague, but c'mon, they are pretty flipping cool. I mean, every seventeen years, like clockwork, up they come. They don't eat foliage, they don't bite, they just basically have the insect-world equivalent of Spring Break. And I find them beautiful.
Plus, there's something holy about this kind of thing; it's nice to be reminded that no matter how much of our world we bend to our will, Nature's still in charge.
Came home and biked to glass class, where I was the only one there this afternoon. Fred decided to amuse himself by playing his guitar for me, and singing his own compositions.
"Horrified yet?" he asked after a few.
"No," I said, carefully cutting my glass, "but I have the name of your first album: 'Fred sings your favorite musical cliches.""
Biked home afterward, took my sun tea in from the yard, and am preparing to head out again, perhaps to a movie. It's that kind of night.
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