THE CICADAS

Every year the cicadas emerge from the ground their endless chorus of chirping marking the beginning of the heat. The nymphs must burrow their way out from the
Earth that has cradled them for six long years they tear themselves from her embrace to journey upwards to other things.
‘I think it is time I saw the sky,’ they say. Soon they emerge from all they have known, and the world is as glorious as they could have imagined, and bigger than they ever
dared to. The trees whisper a welcome to them, and the moon winks at them from the indigo sky above, brighter than anything they have seen. The cicadas, however, are
embarrassed of themselves. How drab and brown they must appear compared to the inky violet of the evening sky, the glisteningmajesty of the moon. How out of place they must look.
‘If only I were as beautiful as them,’ they murmur with envy. And so, they climb the trees, ever further upwards, high enough to face the moon and sky.
‘Look,’ they implore, trying to get their attention ‘I can be beautiful too.’ And here they shed their skins those drab brown shells. They climb outside their own bodies
into something that matches the bejewelled world around them. Their new selves are a green brighter than even the trees, and their ruby red eyes wink like stars of their own.
But the moon and sky still do not notice them for they are too small. Struck with an idea, the cicadas use these new bodies to make music. Their own talent surprises even
themselves, and soon the moon and sky cannot help but notice, praising their artistry. The cicada’s time in this new world is fleeting, however, and after a few short weeks they perish, falling
back down to be enveloped by the Earth once more. She is puzzled.
‘Why did you leave?’ she asks. ‘I protected you, did I not? You were safer herewhat point was there in going to the surface to die?’
‘Ah,’ respond the cicadas wistfully ‘There we saw many wonderful things we saw the moon, and the stars, and the trees. We saw how big the world wasand we learnt that it
mattered not that we were small.’
For the cicadas will never regret having seen the sky, and next year they will make the climb again.