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Exactly where the sound originates is hard to identify. It’s just there — in the trees, in the air, all around.
By late afternoon, more individuals have joined the chorus to create a huge wall of sound. Instead of a rhythmic shaking, there is now one continuous noise. The volume rises and falls in waves.
How many there are I cannot imagine, hundreds I suppose by the loudness of it all. I’ve seen several empty and perfectly formed shells attached to blades of grass or shrubs.
Cicadas emerge from their underground sleep, extricate themselves from their skins and start singing. Who can blame them. Stuck in the dark for a year — or 17 — depending on the species.