A week after the first emergence, the cicadas from Brood X are still coming, they and their exoskeletons are everywhere.
There is no point of hiding.
Instead, leaving the exoskeletons for the birds creates an essential diversion.
That the birds live in the land of plenty this year allowed me to harvest for the first time the cherries from my weeping cherry. Tiny, tart, and tasty.
They just have three weeks. Every second counts. Maybe we should live like that, too.
So here is one of our new friends, up close, with the two big eyes and the three small ocelli.
Reduced distance to the unknown is disconcerting, so I turned off color to create the illusion that we are seeing something abstract, not a living being.
As in Julio Cortázar’s short story Axolotl, the question arises who is looking at whom here.
Are we as different to them as they are to us?
After a glorious night, most of the emergence is done, or at least paused, as it is a cold morning here.
The imagos have matured over night and blackened. I didn’t know that they can have different eye colors.
The one of top decided to move a little, and to let go:
Some of them look weary into the future. The birds have been particularly loud this morning.
Here is one I rescued after it falling to the ground.
Time passes.
After a few cold nights it finally got warmer, and the cicadas from Brood X are finally here. Some of the nymphs need directions.
The shedding of the exoskeleton takes about an hour and is a dramatic spectacle.
When I saw the m it was already getting dark, so I had to help a bit with the light. Below they are half emerged, but still use the support of their shell.
When dry enough, they emerge completely, and rest for another 15 minutes.
When the wings are dry enough, the imagos will move away from their exoskeleton and start unfolding.
There is no looking back … Life can begin, again.
While Brood X seems to be delayed, the first spiderworts (Tradescantia ohiensis) have made their appearance here.
I have captured (or been captivated by) them before, in all their architectural beauty.
These are early morning photos, to avoid harsh sunlight and wind.
At this time the flowers are not fully open yet, conveying a sleepy intimacy.
Here is the second part of the pre-frost wildflowers, in their perfect whiteness.
All gone now…
Rue Anenome (Thalictrum thalictroides)
Drooping Trillium (Trillium flexipes)
Star Chickweed (Stellaria pubera)
Squirrel Corn (Dicentra canadensis) and Striped Cream Violet (Viola striata)
Snowfall overnight in late April is rare here, but has its own strange appeal.
Unfortunately I had other obligations this morning, so I couldn’t go on a longer expedition, so I paid our campus a visit.
While the trees have mostly managed the extra burden, most flowers did not.
It’s not all sadness. Hours later, the snow was all gone, and the recovery has begun.
In the afternoon I went on a short hike at Pate Hollow. Many wildflowers were gone here, and tree blossoms have fallen. Grayness has returned.
But there still is life,
and thus hope.
Imminent snow will ruin the wonderful wildflower display we had the last week. Here is the first batch.
Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum)
Woodland Phlox (Phlox divaricata)
Fire Pink (Silene virginica) and Prairie Trillium (Trillium recurvatum) in its rare quadrillium mutation
Shooting Star (Dodecatheon meadia)
Tonight’s evening sky tempted me to try something new.
These are, obviously, just pictures of clouds.
Except maybe for this one?
It looks like violent weather is approaching, not unusual for this time of the year.
A bit north of the Arrowhead Arch are tall and very steep cliffs, the Messmore cliffs. Above is a look from the top.
And this is how they look from below.
To get there (unless you have a rope and know how to rappel), follow the derelict forest road on the cliff top east until you hit the no trespassing chain, then descend left and follow the cliffs.
There is lots to explore, in complete solitude.
Much of it is otherworldly
or retracts into abstraction.
This has been quite some experience.
The Inner Frame 