Les cigales

The south of France echoes with cicadas this July.

They are large but invisible, buried in the trees. The girls above, and James’ phone below, were lucky to capture a few, drowning out the party:

Our last night in town they fell mysteriously silent a few hours. The contrasting silence felt oppressive, the unfamiliar sounds of our temporary home terrifying in the darkness. Their return at dawn was a reassuring bon voyage.


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