August has landed here in Missouri and the afternoons are three digits, summertime hot. But this day is almost ended and I sit on my back porch with a tall glass of ice water. Cicada song surrounds me.
Cicada Choir
May you have cicada song
May it last all summer long
On through dusk and straight through dawn
May you have cicada song
I have turned off my phone, disengaged from all social media, and shut down my computer. In this moment, I have disconnected from all the world’s drama and trauma. Intentionally, I shut out the neighbors’ conversations and the traffic noise. I will look away for just a while. And I will let the cicada choir’s vibrations fill my senses.
This evening, they begin in the trees on my left, not softly, but suddenly, as if a conductor raised its mighty hand with such authority, they are compelled to sing NOW! I imagine a magical wisp in the center of my back yard, at once controlling sunlight and shade, temperature shifts, and the breeze in the leaves. All this to direct a cicada symphony to heal the world … if only we would be still long enough to listen.
A shrill counter song comes from my right and the insects on my left fade to a softer trill. Each bank of trees, like instrument sections in an orchestra pit, produces a slightly different pitch and polyrhythm. They each crescendo in turn and fade on cue as another section takes up the song.
Cicada Song
Cicada Song music and lyrics by Mama Gina, released 2025 on the album River House Songs
May you have butterfly shoe
When it lands, it lights on you
Moment so still, moment so true
May you have butterfly shoe
I close my eyes and stop trying to anticipate where the next bit of music will come from. This evening choir sings like waves reaching then retreating on the shore. I hear the sound crash all around me.
Occasionally, the choir rests to allow sparrows and wrens to call to each other. I hear the wind in the trees and a lone barred owl speaks for just a moment. Abruptly, the cicada song rises again and pulls me right back in. I do not watch the time. I do not even think about my phone. This sonic meditation is cleansing and I want more.
Remembering Joy
When you rise up singing
And you get to wingin’
When life gets to swinging too hard
May you find the small things
The joyful in all things
There in your own backyard
This vibration is sheer joy – an expression of living and sex and dying that holds the promise of new life. It is an energy that I deserve to feel every day. I am fully in this moment. There is only now. I have let go of all disappointment in the past. And I hold no fear for the future.
I think of creatures living and growing in darkness, under the pressure of the earth. I think of them emerging into glorious sunlight to celebrate the creation of the next choir. And I think of the dark nights of the soul that I have endured … that we have all endured. I imagine climbing from that depth into radiant sunlight, drying iridescent wings, and singing joy that can be heard in every direction. Believing in that for all of us, I am washed clean.
Remembering Peace
May you have leaves of green
And all the seasons in between
All the colors for all your dreams
May you have leaves of green
And still, the cicadas sing. Their choir is less loud now, if no less shrill. I open my eyes and see that it is twilight. The temperature has cooled by just a few degrees. It is enough. The ice has melted in my glass. My thoughts are still. From a branch above me, an aria soars from vibrating ribbed membranes. The song is answered with a test of wings and clicking all around.
I linger a while, not wanting to disturb this peace that they have awakened in me.
Random outbursts from the cicadas rise and fade quickly. Their conductor wields the dip in temperature and the lengthening shadows to create one last, long, fading movement
Evening Falls
May you have the sun and moon
And all the stars shine down on you
May your heart be bright and true
And may you hold the light
I watch the world prepare for the evening sky. The cicadas are almost silent now, but no less joyful. The summer wasps are less aggressive now. Fragile, summer blooms stop searching for the light and bend a tiny bit to sleep. Birds chatter in the trees, feasting on fat cicadas; always leaving far more for tomorrow night’s choir.
May you find peaceful moments and music in your own space … in your own time.
When you rise up singing
And you get to wingin’
When life gets to swinging too hard
May you find the small things
The joyful in all things
There in your own backyard
For more information about Mama Gina, including her collected articles here on Pagan Song, her bio, and links to Gina’s sites on the web, check out Gina’s page on Pagan Song.
Featured Photo by Nguyễn Tiến Thịnh.
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