Editor, Commonwealth:
Every summer around this time, I love to hear the sounds of the cicadas high in the tree tops.
As a child in the 1950s, I heard the same sound, this mating call of love.
Big bugs with big wings, shells on the tree bark. Fascinated, I did stare at the sight before me. I collected so many, and I remember the holes in the ground the insects made.
One flew by my ear. I caught it in the grass and held it in my hand. A big bug with big eyes, it wouldn’t hurt a fly. No bite, no sting, harmless, living below the ground, eating tree roots.
I was in fourth grade, and I took this big bug to school in a matchbox for show and tell. When it was my turn, the little girls screamed and the little boys laughed at the sight. In my hand, it was so still. Suddenly, it flew out the window and disappeared like the wind.
I will cherish that sound like no other until my last breath. It’s music to my ears.
Kenneth Carithers
Greenwood
