© 2010 Aaron Atkinson

Cicada Paintball

Dad: It’s not my blood! It’s not my blood!

I recall thinking that’s not really something you hear your Dad say very often. As he entered my living room after an hour-long bike ride, we all saw what Dad was talking about. The front of his radiant chartreuse jersey was dotted with a dozen bright red blotches. He looked as though he’d come out on the losing end of a paintball fight.

It turns out that directionally-impaired cicadas burst with a red splotch when they slam head first into an oncoming biker.

On these sultry August nights the tree-sucking cicadas in my neighborhood are humming like high-treble electric utility stations. And with tonight’s supercharged, dense atmosphere I can only imagine that once in a while their friction-filled little wings must occasionally overheat, cause a spark and poof! cause them to spontaneously combust into a little red blotch on the trunk of the host hardwood.

One Comment

  1. Ruth Anne Henault
    Posted August 29, 2010 at 2:38 pm | #

    I’m glad he still has all of his own – can see why he would want to hasten to reassure you all tho, given his “spotty” record to date! 😉

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