In a fading spring
A lone cicada.
It was so lonely and strange how he sang loudly at nightfall, when streets were fading into silence. Not a single reply.
Did he miscalculate his time to emerge from the earth? Was he impatient for a coming mating season? Did he know he would die before meeting even one of his kind?
I stopped for a bit, then kept walking until his song sank into the thick darkness.