Photo: A spider floating ominously against a cloudy sky. Apparently it is big-ass spiders makin’ webs season here in Maryland. This one decided to start one outside of my office window. I am very safely behind glass while taking this picture.

It’s too hot to turn on the stove, even with central air. I stood outside in the soup and grilled burgers to serve alongside chips and salad for dinner. I stood there and did my cooking while running through my myriad of mom-worries and regrets and re-arguments. I stood there and flipped burgers and thought about how hard it is to hold up everyone else when I can’t really hold myself up sometimes. I stood there and thought about the nonprofit I started and what the hell I’m going to do about it, and the taste of my pumpkin beer, and the genius of the book I’m listening too and how I’ll never measure up–

and then I noticed the absence.

The cicadas have stopped singing. It feels so very sudden. I swear they were singing yesterday. But that’s a lie, I know that’s a lie. Sometime in the past weekish or so, the cicadas stopped singing and I’ve only just noticed it and I’m so sad.

Used to be I only got 2 weeks of Cicada time when I came home to visit. Massachusetts doesn’t have cicadas… or at least, I never heard one during my time there. Cicadas mean summer to me. Their song is the true soundtrack of summer evenings, passing breezes, and nights without homework and obligations. They are loud, they are joyful, they are horny, they are impatient. Cicadas have only a few important things to do while they are above ground and one of them, blessedly, is to sing/scream/screech. I know that not everyone loves that sound, but I really, really do.

And I’m writing all this because my favorite thing is to note a change. I love that my ear is tuned to noticing and I felt something immediate and important. Here was a moment of loss, the gong of a bell in the midst of cacophony of other thoughts and feelings. The cicadas have stopped singing. Summer is waning. My pumpkin spice cravings are justified. Life, in screaming abundance, will soon give way to that whisper, that sleeping, that storing up, that patient waiting to be summoned again.

But you know what’s nice?

We still have the crickets. They overlap with the cicadas and then they eventually take over. Now is their time, a grand solo as the final act. The lightning bugs came first in all this and they are long gone. Eventually, all we’ll be left with are these big-ass spiders and their ridiculous webs.

What are you noticing lately? What’s absent? What’s present? In the narrative of your summer, where do they all fit?

In a little news, I’ve been writing. I look forward to sharing episode 1 of Silverwood, which will likely get a new name, next Tuesday. There will be caveats and hedging and “please forgive the typos….” but it will be there for you to read if you so choose. And that scares me and also encourages me. Not only am I excited about sharing this story with you, but I’m excited about sharing little bits of my how and why. Thanks in advance for your time and care and reading.

Until next week, take good care.