One of the cicadas fell onto my shoulder. I brushed it off and looked up. In the leaves above me hundreds of red eyes and glittering wings hung from trees like bizarre fruit.

“I woke up from my dream and listened to the cicadas’ song. Suddenly I remembered what was hanging from the porch. It was Betty. They hung my dog.” I stopped, struggling to maintain composure and keep my voice even. “And next to my dog they hung my daughter.”

THE MEANING OF CICADAS BY WENDY RITCHEY #49

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