This morning, I was privileged to witness the emerging of a cicada from its chrysalis. A slow, difficult process, like all births and rebirths.
It paused a while to recover and catch its bearings then took off for a first clumsy, noisy flight. It took a nose dive in a nearby clump of high grass and struggling, became trapped at the bottom of tangled stems.
I reached through the grass, caught an earthy whiff of damp soil. I felt the scrape of the cicada's feet against my palm. Heard and felt the vibration of its attempted escape from a loose fist.
I released it in a more open space watched it crawl some way up a tree trunk and wished it good luck.
On the way back indoors, I picked and chewed a bright orange nasturtium flower and chewed on a couple of caper tasting green pods.
