6 a.m., two weeks prior to the summer solstice. The sky has been bright for 20 minutes already, the the cicada are in an ambient roar.
On the patio, I hear a rattling buzz ~ a lone cicada's "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" It's on its back beneath the patio table ~ legs twitching, wings rattling ~ and I wonder: Does the bug need help in righting itself, or maybe this is the the struggle before it frees itself from its carapace? Maybe these were its death throes, or maybe it's the moment before a hungry bluejay or cardinal makes it so? Who knows?
A moment before I would rise from my chair, it righted itself and awkwardly fluttered away.
Now, tell me what you see?
Is the question an invitation to open your senses and to share what you experience? Or perhaps it's a zen exercise ~ a trap! if it was anyone but me asking ~ or if you read the words on some other blog ~ would the question be easier to answer? How about If I extend my hand? Do you see pleasantries? An offer of friendship? Do you see the hakama and the mats and hear "Grab my wrist..."? Do you see what is in my hand being offered? Or do you see it is empty, open to accept?
The foxglove is cascading downward by the fence line ~ the joe-pye on the mound is tall but not yet ready to flower. The sun, a few degrees higher, burns through the trees, while under the table another cicada tumbles to a landing.
Happy Sunday. Time for coffee.