Cicadas

I never know when it will happen. There is no planning or sitting down with pencil and paper. It’s kind of like life. You can’t really force things to happen. I’ve learned that life unfolds. Sometimes according to plan and most of the time…you just never know for sure.

I am happy there is enough room, enough space for this to happen once in a while. This poem is called Cicadas.

I like to listen to the cicadas
Gathered in the trees along Carolina Beach Road
Early in the morning.

That vibrating, screeching pulse
Talking in a foreign language
And more than one talking at the same time.

A single bird squawks loudly.
Does she understand the cacophony?
Wanting to weigh in?

Or is she annoyed
At the constant siren buzz
And want it to stop?

These sounds and stories
Riding with the window down
On the way to the auto repair shop.

Smiling.
Grateful.
Paula