Music of the Cicadas

I live in an apartment building in the downtown area of a large city. The building is actually in an area that sort of blurs between commercial, residential, and run-down downtown. When I go for walks or look out my window, I can imagine the way the old Victorian-style houses must have looked 30 years ago. In my mind’s eye I can see fresh coats of pastel paint, bright flowers, and crisp curtains. But sometimes it is hard to ignore the peeling paint, weeds, and boarded windows. I hope that someone sees the beauty in these houses and buys one to restore to it’s former glory.

During my walk to the library today I was enjoying taking in the sights along a different route. I walked past several large office buildings, enjoying their summer-baked gardens. My other senses soon started to demand my attention. I could feel the early August sun, slowly baking me. I could hear the birds, and smell the scents from the nearby Rib-Fest. But I noticed one thing was missing – no cicada bugs. Honestly, they drive me nuts. When I lived at home, I kept my bedroom windows open all summer to catch the breezes, and I could always hear the cicadas hiding in the tree outside my window. They were never quite, and they distracted me so much. But today I found myself missing their noise. It was a part of summer, but now it is gone. I have no trees or lawn of my own. My lovely container garden indoors is no real substitute for a beautiful outdoor garden. I wish I could be the one to buy one of the Victorian houses and bring it back to life. I would sit out in my garden, baking in the August heat, and listen to the cicadas sing to me.

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