After much media hype and many warnings, the cicadas have emerged. The decibel level in our yard is horrific. They produce noise over 100 decibels at close range, or about as loud as a rock concert or car racing event. According to researchers at Johns Hopkins, the cicada’s high-pitched buzzing could worsen my tinnitus. And so, it seems, it has. Now I’m a prisoner indoors, but it’s impossible to completely avoid the buggers. I have to mow my lawn and water the flower beds and outdoors is my favorite place to be.
I’m told that they will die off or descend into their underground lairs soon. Maybe in another month or so. But I’m afraid the ringing in my ears will remain long after the tiny monsters return underground. The times that I’ve carried one or two into the house only to have them screech while I squeal before they meet their untimely deaths has certainly damaged my psyche. And knowing that they are lurking beneath our lawn is the stuff of horror movies. Cicada nightmares continue!
My wife has wondered aloud if cicadas were one of the plagues mentioned in Scripture. And what did primitive peoples think of them? Were they horrified or mystified? We will never know.
While the cicadas are currently making my life a hell on earth, I can’t help but think of the other tormentors in our society today. Racists, sexists, xenophobes, and megalomaniacal politicians in our nation persist. We have a convicted felon running for president and we’re somehow expected to normalize this. When will honorable statemen and stateswomen stand up for justice and decency? When will the screeching stop?
This is Pride Month and I pray for my adult granddaughter and other young LGBTQ+ young people. I pray for acceptance. I pray for a Church that is inclusive. I pray for understanding. I pray for a heart that is loving. I pray for a spirit that is forgiving.
As with the cicadas, I sometimes want to just put my earplugs firmly in place and wait until the screeching ends. But it doesn’t seem to be subsiding. So, we must be louder than the screechers. We must drown out discrimination with understanding. We must drown out intolerance with acceptance. We must drown out injustice with love.
And maybe, just maybe, the screeching will end…
Peace,
Denis
A week or so ago the first egg hatched, followed by two more the following day. The fourth egg never hatched. I guess, such is nature. At first the three baby birds were just all eyes and beaks and fluff. Always with their necks outstretched, waiting for momma bird to deliver some sustenance. Momma bird would fly from rooftop to tree to ground and back and then do it all over again and again. She would pull worms from the ground and return to the nest only to fly away again in constant pursuit of food for her young.
Yesterday as I was looking into the nest, two of the babies jumped out! Then on to a branch and then onto the ground. Momma cardinal became hysterical. The squawking and flapping and flying around was startling to say the least. It was as if she was sounding an alarm. And indeed she had. Soon daddy cardinal was on the scene. Both appeared to be searching for their timid youngsters who had taken shelter in the rose and holly bushes in our front garden. They were like tiny sentries on guard. Desperately struggling to protect their young from what might lie ahead. This morning the nest was empty save for the un-hatched egg. The fledglings have officially “flown the coop”.
Now we have five grandchildren aged 12 to 1. Our beautiful baby Gwen turns one year old today. She’ll have her own “fledgling moments” soon enough as will her sisters and her cousins. I just hope I’m around to squawk and flap my wings as needed when the time comes.
Journeying & Journaling 