The Call of the Cicadas

Olives

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

A walk in Provence

What is that song I hear

Deep in the dark of the olive trees?

A chorus of single staccatos

Echoing in a mass of choir.

 

Stepping into the dense and stony grove

I look for the invisible shadows;

Though they appear not in my sight

I feel their ubiquitous presence.

 

It got to my head to lay in wait

So I find a space to be at state.

By ripened olives I cool in shade

As the Provençal heat burns in rage.

 

My languid linger was not in vain.

For they begin in a single vein

To mock my idle with much disdain,

That the fertile hour be gone to waste,

That the fertile hour be gone to waste.

* Provençal folklore tells the tale of God sending the cicada to disturb peasants from their endless siestas on hot summer days to stop them from becoming too lazy.

** These photos were taken in Provence, Southeast France.  In this summer heat the “Cigale”  relentless song occupy most of the daylight hour in the Provence countryside and there is so much tranquility in their music.     

 

 

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