Me vs. The Cicadas

This year, the 13 year cicadas are out of the ground to mate, lay eggs, and die.  They’ve been getting louder over the last week or two, after we first caught sight of them climbing trees at night to moult.  And as I learned two days ago, they also enjoy attacking me while I use the weed wacker.  These little guys are relentless – they go out of their way to land on me.  I know they’re harmless, and if I’m doing anything else, I actually like them.  But the weed wacker sounds a lot like them, and I can only assume they want to mate with it so they can get on with laying eggs and dying.  They fly into me from every angle.  I’m pretty sure one made it half-way up the back of my shirt, some of them fly into my face, and one actually landed on my mouth.  I try not to hurt them, but sometimes they fly directly into the death zone.  One thing I can say is at least they don’t splatter when that happens.  And I admit, they do give me a fair warning before they fly into me; their loud cry of “CREEEE!” that fills the air at all times is more directed towards me a second before they strike.


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