A heavy chorus of cicadas as I walked Rosey – it was almost as if they were singing two parts – scores would click away for perhaps a second or two – must have been hundreds of them, a slight pause, then another section of the choir with a different pitch for a second or so, then they would pause, only to be answered by the first group of the “chorus”

Cicadas Sing

Summer night, the air so thick,

Wet and heavy

, feel it cling,

Branches droop so low,

Listen to the cicadas sing.

Summer Triangle high above

Just where it belongs,

Altair there, behind those trees,

Hear the cicada song.

The last few birds grow quiet,

One silent barn owl on wing,

Denizens of the forest keep polite silence,

Listening to the cicadas sing.

Tree frogs join in chorus,

The wood with this strange song rings,

The Dismal Swamp in June,

Listen to the cicadas sing.