A cicada

This isn’t my photo although I did see a cicada up close once, when it washed up in the porch of our previous house in Italy.

For the most part, cicadas are things you hear.

When I first heard them (or it, maybe) I thought it was a whole treeful of magpies. It’s the most horrible jangling, chattering noise.

Apparently cicadas make such a racket that birds are too stressed to pick them off.

The cicadas here at the moment are ventriloquists, or very cunning, or both. This morning I thought there was one in the nectarine tree. When I got near, it seemed to be coming from the currant bush a bit further away. When I got near that, it was in the grass beyond, then an olive tree beyond that …

I gave up at that point because I thought it would lead me a merry dance right round the olive grove.

It’s possible my directional hearing is poor, but a more likely explanation is that cicadas go quiet when you get near and so you’re always hearing the next nearest one.

Anyway, I gave up the idea of  tracking one down for a photo.

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