I heard the year’s first cicada yesterday.

its tell-tale whirs and clicks made me smile.

this morning, I found an abandoned husk

clinging to the underside branch of our pear tree,

remnant of what I’d discerned the day before.

the sights and sounds of the locust horde —

bearing witness to summer’s tumble toward autumn

as the seasons circle round, as they always do.

the witch’s teat runs dry.

her stippled alabaster skin,

tinges of greenish gray.

she howls in echoed cadence

with a waning gibbous moon,

her thirst for retribution

unquenchable.

village folk and all who toil

late into the dark of night

or beneath the blazing heat

of a cruel sun in resistant fields,

those who tirelessly tend

to cattle, sheep and fowl,

those who bleed and sweat

and endure many hardships,

those who strive to protect

their families & keep them safe, fed

and sheltered from storm —

there are some who embrace her magic.

and yet, there are none of these fools

who do not, will not yield to her charms.

I’m doing battle

with leatherwings

and Japanese beetles

this summer.

*

both are annoying invaders

to my patio of serenity,

my colorful array of florals.

*

one loathsome creature,

a dahlia destroyer,

happily munches away

on my emerging blooms.

*

the other is a bug

I’m told is beneficial to gardens

though I find their massive numbers

exasperating as they

fly into my hair,

cling to my clothing,

forever hovering, hovering.

*

they’re everywhere!

it’s all so very distasteful & annoying.

*

blech!!

*

curiously, both insects’

vibrant markings

are quite beautiful,

I cannot fault

their appearance.

*

it’s their very existence

in my garden that I detest!