Even the ordinary annual cicadas in my area are on their own a force to be reckoned with. They don't peak until late summer though. Because of that, and the fact that as a kid it meant going back to school, the sound still makes me sad and melancholy and reflective about whether I achieved what I wanted with my summer time before it's gone.

It's amazing how powerful that sound is.

For a while I've been wanting to write a southern gothic short story about the sound and the sadness and/or insanity that it drives people to.