The last few days have been unseasonably warm, and last night I found a Cicada clinging onto some curtains inside the main room just by the terrace door. I helped him out and off he went but without the squark which often happens when you pick them up.
I spent a whole childhood up trees doing just that - picking up Green Grocers, Yellow Mondays, Piss Whackers, and Black Princes clinging onto the giant Liquidambar at the side of the old house and from which I could peer into the top floor of the Anderson's house that they built on what used to be the next door tennis court. No one had swimming pools then, and no one has tennis courts now. The room I could see into was the sitting room. It was all grey except for the ceiling which was white - grey walls, grey carpet, grey lounge and chairs. All grey, like the Andersons.
It didn't take much looking today to find the shells - one, two, four, sixteen - everywhere. What I hadn't ever noticed before was the fine white stringy thing hanging out the abandoned exoskeleton, like something umbilical.
Curiously, there's been no songsters yet. It doesn't seem quite hot enough, or maybe they need to mature another day or so. But they're out and about.
