A Celebration Of Life Poem by Raymond Farrell

As I sit
Under the locust tree
This evening
There is a cool breeze
Hinting at coming rain
Which is gently rustling the leaves
And providing a welcome relief
From the day's heat and humidity
When I left the clinic
At noon today
I cut through the nearby park
On the way to the bus stop
The temperature was well over 35 Celsius
And every bush, shrub and tree
In the park was singing
The din
Waxed and waned
And according to locals
Is a sign the real summer's heat
Is about to begin
All courtesy
Of the cicadas
Who had just hatched en masse
The birds were feasting
But will soon be satiated
Leaving the remaining bugs
Free to breed unmolested
The cicadas are cousins
To leafhoppers and spittle bugs
But unique in the insect world
Of music makers
In not being stridulators
Because
Unlike grasshoppers and crickets
Who make music
By rubbing body parts together
The cicada has a specific part
Of exoskeleton
Designed to produce sound
Called a tymbal
Internal muscles contract
And draw it in
With a click
Relaxation then produces
Another click
As it assumes its normal position
The hotter the day
The faster the cicada
Work their tymbals
And today as the mercury
Rose above 35 Celsius
The song of the cicada
Was so intense
If you stood under
Any tree
In the park
Normal conversation was impossible
I stood for a minute or two
Listening to their song
And thought
It's great to hear
Any celebration of life
On a hot humid day
Or any other day
In this torrid world
We live in
Which is too often
Bent on ruin
And destruction.