my cicada

wee one on the balcony

Much is made of Japan's four distinct seasons, so much so they are often heralded as a source of national pride. Which is probably perplexing for those in other climates that also enjoy a similar sum of seasons. However as we fumble our way through our first year here, it does seem that each season has its unique charms and these are often appreciated with an enthusiasm perhaps not typical of most other urban dwellers. The most obvious example of course being the cherry blossoms of spring, when the whole country anxiously anticipates and discusses the arrival of a the most fleeting of flowers. And now, as of about 10 days ago, it is summer. Fireworks (or Skyflowers as exalted waiter Takashi-san, he of the free sake, calls them) take place weekly. Giant peaches and fresh corn are displayed in shops like trophies. And much to my surprise here in the middle of Tokyo, cicadas are everywhere droning away in the hot sun, a ceaseless chorus through the screen windows. Being a true, though irrevocably displaced, southern babe, there are few things more nostalgic to me then the sounds of cicadas through an open screen door.