This regarding the poetic effect of a bug voice on Henry David Thoreau. His Aug. 4, 1851 entry from Greg's 'The Blog of Henry David Thoreau':
"As my eye rested on the blossom of the meadow-sweet in a hedge, I heard the note of an autumnal cricket, and was penetrated with the sense of autumn. Was it sound? or was it form? or was it scent? or was it flavor? It is now the royal month of August. When I hear this sound, I am dry as the rye which is everywhere cut and housed, though I am drunk with the season'’s wine."
You've felt yourself respond emotionally to this chorus. I wonder why responses like these have been selected for - what possible adaptive value in this?
August is all about insect noise: Tree cicada,cricket, katydid. All that chirping, buzzing protein draws its corollary in the consumer aisle - I didn't manage a picture of cicada killers. They're fast, scary and ugly.
2 comments:
Beautiful photos, Cathy.I'm amazed you can get so close before they fly away. I've been trying.
On our canoe paddle on Saturday, it was mid-day, and I really missed the sounds of the birds and insects. Perhaps it was too hot for them, but I spoke my disappointment outloud..."where are you, little birds!"
Yes, Bonita - my birds, too, have quieted down as I guess their nesting and their carving-out-my-turf inclinations are waning as the sun drifts south, again. (Waaaaaa:0(
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