Timothy Hawkes
A Life’s Work
For 17 long years this cicada crept and crawled its way through the dark earth, stopping now and then to sip sap from the roots of trees that tower in the sunlight high above.
school yard an earthworm searches for a way back under
Now the moment has arrived. Drawn upward by some invisible sign, the cicada emerges from the ground at the same time as millions of its fellows, and climbs the nearest upright object it can find, struggles to free itself from the shell that’s held it tight for so long, and then waits for its new wings to dry.
graduation day a sunflower opens petals to the sky
Without a suitable surface for this particular insect to rest on, its wings only partially unfold, and harden half-curled and twisted. The cicada will never join its fellows to mate and sing loudly in the canopy. It can only crawl about on the ground, easy prey for a bird or fox or snake. Even if it escapes, in a week or two it will die, and its carcass will lie in the sun, crumbling slowly back into the soil.
hospice care through the window a bird seen but not heard
About the Author
Timothy Hawkes — jack-of-all-hobbies and perennial dabbler. Food snob. Known to fish. Likes chocolate and travel and spending time outdoors.