Years ago a young brother barely in his teens... Lamar is his name... introduced me to the word, but not the sound.
The sound does nothing but remind me of my grandmother--Momo--who died almost twenty years ago. We... that is, my sisters and brothers and I, spent a lot of time at Momo's house. During the summer, we even spent nights there. She had two big trees in the front yard and one in the back, and these were only a sampling of scores of trees in her simple neighborhood. I come from a little town of MANY big trees. Home of cicadas.
During the summer, since there was no such thing as air conditioning back then, we were more connected to the natural world. By that I mean for entertainment we sat outside on the screened front porch and talked; or else, at bedtime, slept in a bedroom cooled by the stuffy night air. With the window up.
The sounds of the night found their way in, etching their way into my fondest of all memories. Crickets, toads, and... cicadas. Perhaps you know or refer to them as locusts. I always did until a Young Brother, after preparing his Number 2 Talk, told me otherwise.
I haven't seen Lamar in years. I just remembered him tonight after hearing, after a long time of not, a cicada. Once you hear the sound, it's something that will live with you always.
As does my love of "Jehovah's People." I knew some great humans who to this day remain trapped in a system and have no clue. And I miss them. As I yearned for, without knowing it, the sound of a cicada, I yearn for the sound of their laughter and voice.
One day... one day...