Cloudy day enthusiasts with a touch of social anxiety. Cicadas are my spirit bug. Burrowing into the ground, feasting on plant roots, and not coming up for a year (or 17!) or when you're good and ready sounds appealing to me some days.
My fascination with these insects has bred a really sweet jittered type of excitement in the nannybabe. We carry around an old Two Buck Chuck crate, complete with magnifying glass, greek yogurt container (tack-holed for ventilation), Cicadas library book, and tongs from his play barbecue set because the child won't touch them. For every hundredth shell I pick, bare-fingered from a branch or brick wall, I imagine he'll get spunky and touch one directly. Nope.
And here's the sad sad ending... Dude lost his tongs at the park yesterday. But that's life, I guess, poor thing. The season for cicada hunting is losing it's thrills, anyway, as they make their way deep down into the ground again. Fall is here and as the days get shorter, I'll be doing my form of the same. Rising in the early morning to gorgeous candy coated skies and hunkering down in the evening with my kittypup and a good read. Fall, I'm feelin' you.