Wake Up, Have Sex, Nap: Why I Want to be a 17-Year Cicada
It was the sound I’d been anticipating, as I began a late afternoon May stroll on a golf course somewhere in East Tennessee. Thousands of cicadas, their wings furiously rubbing together, signaling that yes, they had emerged from their nymph-like states, climbed trees, shed their skins and were ready to state their existence for the…