I immediately noticed when the cicadas arrived in May. The cicada chorus would grow in numbers and volume as the mercury rose in the late afternoon. I listen now, literally tilting my head this way and that. Not a single sign of them and now when I am so very aware of their non-presence I can’t recall the day their escalating songs ceased.
It’s mid-autumn, everywhere in the northern hemisphere, but travel southward and you’d never know it. Chlorophyll is still abundant, dragonflies have been usurped by migrating monarchs, gone is the sharp white light that illuminates colors so well – in its place a golden hue now warms the rooftops and my skin in the late afternoon. The air is sharper and I find remarkable numbers of acorns along my pedestrian commutes.
Walking in the early autumn evening I see lights turn on, house after house, room after room, offering a glimpse into the lives of others – while they’re within my sight. A monarch flutters past and I’m pulled from my voyeuristic game to this season more like a 2nd spring. Just when I thought little would recover from 5 months of heat, flowers are in bloom, the grass is a deep green carpet again, trees proudly stand erect, leaves dance on the wind and my hoodie has taken up its rightful place – always within arm’s reach.