by Janet A. Ginsburg

I am being serenaded by cicadas and it is glorious. They are the sound of summer, the neon hum to the flicker dance of lightning bugs on warm humid nights. Cicadas are everywhere and nowhere. How can something that loud and large be so hard to spot?

Their past-life suits, discarded in a final molt, pile up near trees, many abandoned mid-climb. Each is perfect in every exquisite detail, with a slit along the back where its owner wriggled out into a new life – with wings! – so utterly different from the subterranean world of its childhood....

To read the full article, including info on prehistoric cicadas and how 17-year cicadas manage to count to 17, go to the archives page at germtales.com

germtales is now a website. In addition to posts on subjects ranging from The Mystery of the Ancient Horses to Mind Germs, there are book reviews, interviews, news headline links and an extensive, eclectic sources page.

Thanks for your interest!



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At 7:21 AM, Blogger Scholiast said...

I love cicadas... We haven't got any here, but I've spent considerable time (well, money permitting..) in Greece, and the sound of cicadas sets me right back to the dusty, hot summers of Crete :)

At 1:55 AM, Blogger Rory Shock said...

awesome post ... very beautifully done ...


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