(repost) Song of the South: Cry of the Cicada

The Cry of the Cicada

by Micah Royal

cicada 2

Sure footed, eyes ahead, I move forward
shoes plodding onward across asphalt streets
my agenda for the day like shades
dimming my vision
blocking out un-necessary distractions
on the horizon of my mind
until I hear it.

Ebbing low, then high,
a quick rattling
like the pennies in a bottle
my wife used to train her service dog
to not be shaken by the bangs and pops of fireworks

Unceasing, it grows
its metallic voice a whine and squeel of pops
a sound like rain on a hot tin roof
turned orchestral
steady pitter patter
turned explosion of sound

Its voice a roar of wavescicada

overtaking beach
has me in its grip
so I am the sand slipping between your toes
ever moving, sliding as if if into endless oblivion of sea
yet solidly still underneath

Like a sudden burst of fire
it sets the tree beside me to shaking
rising til it reaches crescendo
then fading to silence
for a moment
then trees around me each burst out in rattling answer

burning_bushwith which you call me, no longer a whisper
hidden beneath the noise of my day
but a roar of carapace and wing
so, like Moses on the mountain,
I burn but am not consumed
“Take off your shoes,” the music whispers
“this is holy ground”.
And I do, knowing it always is.

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