Cicadas have fascinated me since childhood. I remember one summer as a little girl, when the sound of cicadas was deafening, their hum incessant, and the tangible feel of their vibration in the air.

I remember hearing adults complain about the cicadas. The noise. The dead carcasses. The crunch. I remember thinking, “How lucky to witness this! To be alive when they decide to surface!” Cicadas are cyclical insects, emerging from underground every 13 or 17 years, essentially to mate.

And I always called them “chee-cah-dahs.” Which is not the correct pronunciation. But it’s what I was drawn to call them.

They’re back this year. I see them on my walks. I hear them humming, hoping to attract a mate. I marvel at their orange beady eyes. I adore their wide transparent wings. I mentioned how I love when they appear to a friend, and they looked at me with a raised eyebrow and said, “You mean “see kay dahs”?

Yes, I guess I do. 🙂