Tonight my husband called me outside for a moment. Dutiful wife that I am, I came when beckoned, and after staring at each other for a few seconds, I asked, “Wassup?”

“Don’t you hear it?” he asked.

“You mean the bugs?”

“Yes, all those bug sounds. Don’t you think that’s neat?”

Actually, I do.

I don’t know how it is in Minnesota or Montana, but here in South Carolina, the days are getting noisier and noisier. The nights too. Morning, noon, and night, the constant din of the cicadas can be quite annoying. I say “can be” because I actually find it a bit amusing. If you’ve once heard the incessant droning, whirring sound, it’s unmistakable when you hear it again. If you haven’t, then it’s indescribable. Just imagine what I call “night sounds,” those of crickets and frogs and “bugs” that go on all the time, magnify them dozens of times, and make them last all day. Then you’ll begin to imagine the constant cacophony of sound that these insects make.

There’s virtually no escaping the summer symphony. As I’m sitting inside the house with a t.v. on in another room and the air conditioner running full blast in this one, I can STILL HEAR THEIR ROAR.  Incidentally, I recently learned that the males are the ones making the ruckus; the voiceless females are busy doing something else. But get this, her ears are attuned to hear only the male’s song, and that’s it. Neither sirens, shotgun blasts, nor screaming banshees would be heard…just the male’s music.

Ah, the South in the summertime. I’m going to miss these little noise makers soon.

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