You may have heard that Nashville was the proud host of a 13-year cicada brood this spring.
After nearly three weeks of incessant mating calls, which at times were audible indoors over air-conditioning, things are finally winding down. Now, the dwindling cries of the male cicadas are almost drowned out by the crunch of their carcasses along my commute.
It’s preferable to scenes like this
and being bombed by swarms if I happen to step under the wrong tree.
Like any trying time, the cicada invasion produced some interesting art.
But overall I’m happy to be on the “die” end of their life cycle.