I don’t like Cicadas (though I will argue the name should be pronounced with a hard ‘K’ sound for the same reason that Celtic is pronounced that way. “Seltic” is just wrong. So is “Sicada.”
The reason I don’t like them is not because they’re “bugs” but because they’re the heralds of hot weather. I don’t get to spend as much time in water like I could as a child and so hot weather is not something I really look forward to.
As bugs, I think they’re great. All googly eyes with spikey legs and they make that great sound which you’d so hate to hear in the middle of the night when you know there’s an axe murderer in the woods.
I was recently lamenting to Susan that I’ve never seen a
Kikada Cicada come up out of the ground and molt. I’ve only ever seen their husks hanging onto a tree trunk or leaf or seen the mature cicada BUZZING away in a tree or from between my fingers.
She’s actually been saved from one by our dog Sophie. I’ll let her tell that story.
Mine is much more mundane.
It turned out to be a recently unearthed Cicada headed toward the nearest tree.
Being the kind of guy I am I gently picked him up and placed him (Her. It. Whatever) at the base of the tree.
It was quite dark so I continued on my walk. I wonder if he’s molted…