I’m waiting today for the true sound of a summer heat wave: the thin whine of cicadas piercing the humidity. Perhaps it is too early in the year yet.
Still nothing but bird song in the woods, and the distant hum of traffic on route 80.
In August, cicadas will be the daylight musak. The nights will belong to the katydids, who definitely should have been named REECH-CHEE-CHEECH because there’s nothing in their deafening song that speaks of Katy at all.
Still waiting here. No whine at all.