Cicada Summer

There he was, stuck to the screen of my door. What was he doing? Thinking? Doubtful.

I hear him, these summer nights; he and his family and friends tune up in the darkness, singing their summertime songs, filling the night with their grating sound. 

All my life, I called them jar flies, and it was a lesson learned when I found out that wasn’t their proper name. It’s interesting that they, whatever their name, shed their old skins and crawl right out. I find their shells stuck here and there, exact replicas of the insect that inhabited them. This is Cicada Summer.

Sometimes, I’d like to shed my old thoughts, worries, fears and problems like the jar fly sheds his shell. I’d like to put on new, hopeful, positive thoughts and spread my wings to explore fresh possibilities.

Come to think of it, don’t I have that opportunity every morning? I wake up and worries are left over from the nights and days before. Seemingly, I’ve not solved them; furthermore, I’ve no idea how to accomplish that gigantic feat. So, like the cicada, I’ll give them all to God. He’s big enough to handle them. My worries don’t accomplish a thing. They just keep me from enjoying the days; Every time I start to worry, I’ll remind myself: I don’t have that problem any more. I’ve given it to God. I’ve shed that old skin.

Thanks, jar fly, for the lesson.