The Changes of Summer Told by the Cicadas' Song

The rainy season has ended, and summer is here in full force.

Even though it has only just begun, I am already starting to lose to the heat.

One of the things that makes me feel that "summer has arrived" is the sound of cicadas.

Every year in my neighborhood, I hear the Nii-nii cicada, the Abura cicada, the Min-min cicada, the Kuma cicada, and then the Tsukutsukuboushi at the end of the season.

A little further away, I can also hear the somewhat lonely "kana-kana-kana" song of the Higurashi, and through the voices of the cicadas, I have always felt the changing of the summer season.

However, this year, no sooner had I heard the Nii-nii cicada than the Kuma cicada began to sing, followed quickly by the appearance of the Min-min cicada.

It was only this week that I finally heard the song of the Abura cicada.

The modest, cool "chee" song of the Nii-nii cicada still carries a sense of composure, a feeling that "summer is here."

On the other hand, when the metallic resonance of the Kuma cicada—which I rarely saw in my neighborhood—and the voices of the Min-min cicadas that seem to stoke the heat overlap, I feel an inescapable swelter, as if the perceived temperature has risen by several degrees.

When I was a child, the only cicadas around me were the Abura cicadas with their "jee" song.

I would chase the brown-winged Abura cicadas with a bug net, searching through the trees until I was drenched in sweat.

Even when I finally caught one in my net, I was hesitant to touch it, so I would do my best to avoid contact while somehow getting the fluttering cicada into a cage, which always brought me joy.

Compared to the Abura cicada, the Min-min cicada was a rare sight, and because they had transparent wings, I admired them and thought their song sounded somewhat cool.

Meanwhile, the Kuma cicada was, to me, a creature that only existed in picture books.

As an adult, I happened to hear a loud "sha-sha-sha" sound in Numazu, and at first, I couldn't even tell it was the sound of a cicada.

I still remember being surprised when I asked the person I was with and they told me, "That is the song of a Kumazemi (large brown cicada)."

The Kumazemi was once a symbol of warm regions in western Japan and coastal areas.

Now, they sing in my neighborhood every year as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I cannot help but feel the footsteps of global warming moving northward in their momentum.

Cicadas that once felt rare have become familiar, and conversely, I have come to feel a sense of charm and nostalgia for the song of the Aburazemi (large brown cicada), which was commonplace when I was a child.

I think that not only my senses but also the environment surrounding the cicadas is changing little by little.

A few years ago, I also saw places where the roots of street trees were being paved over.

With less soil on the ground, it may be becoming a difficult environment for cicadas to live in.

Summer has only just begun.

The intense heat continues, but I hope to take care of myself while enjoying the sounds and scenery unique to this summer.