Songs of Nature

Where I live the cicadas are singing quite loudly. A few days ago, I was playing outside with my two year old nephew. We were at a lovely park. To get to the play equipment, we traversed a well-treed pathway. Overhead the cicadas chatted.

The little one turned to me.

"Aunt Julie, what is that sound?"
"Cicadas," I said.
"Where do they live?"
"High in the tree branches."
"Why do they change their song when we get close?"
"I don't know."

I hadn't been giving it my attention but he was right. When we walked closer to a cicada filled tree, they changed the song to a softer whirring. When we moved away, they took the whir back to a fevered pitch. Awesome that the two year old noticed the various tonal nuances had to do with our approach. I say time to get all children outside. Kin Domains are a child's first school.

Here is a poem from an anonymous Hellenistic Poet

We bless you cicada,
high in the branches.
You sip a dew drop
and whistle like a king.
What you see is yours:
all the soft meadows
and furry mountains.
Yet you do no harm
in the farmer's field,
and men exalt you
as the voice of summer.
You are loved by muses
and Apollo himself
who gave you clear song.
Wise child of the earth,
old age doesn't waste you.
Unfeeling and bloodless
you are like a god.