On the other hand, they are bugs and their mental processes are not so complex; still, when Tamara and I noticed a largish, dark-colored bug crawling slowly and painfully up a chive stem, we recognized it for what it was: a cicada, newly emerged and looking for a place to grab on and find out what happens next!
Sure enough, we we returned it had come out of its old skin.
|A little blurry -- I didn't want to get too close.|
Eventually it was ready to fly and the next time I looked, it was gone. I added the empty carapace to my windowsill army while the cicada sang from the next yard over, one voice among many. Some people don't like their calls, but if you'd spent your childhood in the dark and dirt, and emerged to a sunny afternoon and the power of flight when you grew up, you might sing, too!