his legs wrapped tightly around the garden fence, the cicada gave in to his time of transformation.

i found him when i was watering. i bent down to pull a weed by the low fencing and there he was, clinging with all his might to the thin metal frame, following his call of nature, nymph to adult. the transition is recognizable. the two creatures look remarkably different, so it is easy to tell which is the mature cicada.

it’s the second time we have been witness to part of the cicada’s metamorphosis. the first time the cicada was clinging to the deck and we watched the whole fascinating process. this time, we came upon the cicada after it had shed its old skin, the outer exoskeleton having molted off into the dirt. both were profound for us. the giving over, the trusting of transformation, gaining wings, going on into next as something quite different.

“life is not so much about beginnings and endings as it is about going on and on and on. it is about muddling through the middle.” (anna quindlen)

and in the middle, the holding on. legs – and arms – wrapped around the garden fence of our lives, clutching for dear life. to be in the middle – sorting and pondering, full of wonder and angst – we can only trust that each next will arrive, that the on and on will not betray us, that we will not betray the on and on. the cicada surrenders, relinquishes any worry of what is to come.

and then, it wakes soon after, having pushed its way through the deadened shell. with wings. wings! exuberant noise fills the summer air. i know i will listen for our garden-fence-cicada on hot nights when the sun is setting and dusk is on the sky.

and we – in our metamorphosis from one day to another – sorting and pondering on our fence – begin to know that wings are possible. we learn that we have had them all along. we untuck them, test them out, flex a little, grow stronger. and we are astounded to learn – like the cicada – that we can fly.

“i want to be light and frolicsome. i want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though i had wings.” (mary oliver)

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read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY