Cicada season has come and gone; it is another class of organism I refer to, in the throes of a parallel drama of ceremonial unwrapping and full-throated song of the self... Me, they sing. Me, again.
It's about living with the ambiguity. Accepting the light and the dark... It's about (the serial memoirist will say, without a whisper of irony) other people.
From time to time, what necessitates a new installment is a dramatic development in the author's life... More often, however, these accounts are dispatches from ordinary life, and frequently about middle age.
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