Henri the Cicada

I was on our 20th floor balcony last week when a cicada hopped onto our ottoman. I named him Henri and, since I had taken the day off of work and in a mindful mood, I was able to just sit and watch him. He kept moving his front legs along his eyes and I was so struck by his delicate wings and the intricate segmentation of his body. At one point he spooked me a bit by suddenly fluttering to the floor, his wings sounding like shuffling playing cards. My family was less impressed.

And just NOW, we were sitting in our living room when suddenly all we could hear was the sound of SUMMER. Like, a ‘lying on my bed in my suburban childhood home at dusk’ sound- only, we live on the 20th floor, and we never hear this sound. I walked to one of our windows, and there, on the other side of the glass, perched on the window pane, was HENRI! He came back- and the amazing thing was that I was able to watch him as he made that quintessential cicada cacophony by bopping his little butt up and down. It was seriously so cool, and then he flew away and was gone.

This is what Friday nights are for me now.