I find an empty cicada shell beneath a leaf on an oak tree I planted this spring.
That line sums up midsummer, this lush and gorgeous summer. I planted that tree from my bare root order, a mere stick with a frizz of roots. Maybe, my kids said. And yet these trees thrive.
stillness–
sinking into the rocks,
cicadas’ cry
— Basho
Molly and Fluffy
Stony Soil Vermont 
Lovely.
I used to find cicada shells in my childhood in Pennsylvania. But not a single one here. Yay for oaks. I’m babying a volunteer that is growing in the tangled weedy garden west of the house. Need to choose a new permanent home for it to flourish and expand into.