For me, the sound of the cicada is synonymous with the late, hot, hazy days of summer.
When I was young I didn’t know what made the sound and I’d be off trying to find the source. I didn’t find it but the searching would turn into a game of hide and seek or tag with the neighborhood kids. Later we would sit on someone’s porch drinking Cool Aid watching the lightning bugs.
A small piece of childhood magic and wonder was lost when I found out it was an insect.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t know what made the sound.