I lied a little about the promise of a Film Noir series. Sorry about that. Although I DO still want to do a series a-la-noir, since it is July 4th weekend I was drawn to printing something more outdoorsy.
For some reason, summer embodies the outdoors. I say “for some reason” because I am not personally a fan of summer (no offense, summer) as it is mostly comprised of mugginess, swarms of mosquitoes, weeds, and crazy-high temps here down South where humidity–and its squatter cousin, haze–reigns king.
I do love to listen to the cicadas at night, for two reasons. First, it’s atmospheric. Second, they are a reminder to me that fall–my favorite season, and with it, the reprieve of cooler temps–is on the other side. As summer fades, the cicada song changes a bit from that summery buzz-rattle noise to the quieter, more rhythmic hissing type noise that is music to my burning-hot ears.
So, sing, cicadas, sing!