Monday, June 7, 2021

The Day of the Locust

 . . . is drawing to a close.

Quite a few carcasses litter the ground. The volume of the raucous love-call made by the males is diminishing just a bit. The ones that are still flying around seem to be slowing down. They are not particularly skillful navigators, frequently bumping into windows and siding with a soft "plunk". 

Today's Washington Post says that it's the female cicada who's in charge. She decides whom to accept. "Within an hour (of mating), she will slice open a small tree branch and lay her eggs securely in the opening. Soon, she will also die." 

Ah, poor thing. Six weeks after Mom passes on, the eggs hatch. The nymphs drop from the tree and burrow into the ground to stay for the next seventeen years. 

Know this, Ladies:  the pickings are getting slimmer by the day.