When I let out the dogs yesterday morning, Anya made a beeline toward a bug on the patio. I shooed her away and noticed it was a cicada, flipped over on its back. At first I thought it was dead, but then noticed its legs moving lazily. I picked it up and then dropped it when it suddenly emitted that buzzing noise they all make. I’d never heard just one of them making that noise, and that was when I realized that I didn’t hear that mass of buzzing that sometimes makes it impossible to hear anything else outside once they’ve emerged from hibernation. How odd, I thought, that just this one guy would have appeared. Did he wake up at the wrong time? Was it not the right year? Was he too early, or did he get left behind?

I picked him up again and turned him over, then ushered the dogs back inside. It wasn’t until later, when I was driving home from my 10-mile run with the windows down, that I heard the cacophony coming from the commons across the street from our house. Apparently, this was their year, and the one on the porch was just a little early.

I wonder if he found the rest of the gang.

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