The cicadas

This evening the cicadas have taken up the chorus they began last week, signaling the dwindling days of summer and autumn’s approach. The heat will still come, but it will start to lose its edge. Everything in nature in this part of the world moves at once toward its fullness and its rest. How different the human pace around me, which rushes toward the frenetic in the start of school, the busyness of a new season in the church, as if we can deny the year’s end by accelerating through it. What would it look like, I wonder, to slow the pace of civilization to match that of the season? The serenade of the cicadas whispers, “Go easy. Tread lightly. Savor what passes so quickly.”

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