Fourteen years in silence
They rise, red-eyed and roaring.
They don’t sting or bite.
They don’t plow the fields or damage crops.
They just here, together — millions of them.
Climbing out of the dirt to sing one great song.
They’re called Magicicada — no accident.
That name didn’t come from a scientist’s checklist.
It came from a deeper place. A place that understands what it means
to wait, to hold back, to carry time in their memory.
Fourteen years.
Buried.
Unseen.
Unheard.
And then — like thunder from the roots — they come.
Not to feed.
Not to fight.
But to remind us.
We could use a little of that magic right now.
In a world shouting over itself, here comes a swarm that says:
“No rush. We waited. We remembered.
Now we sing.”
Maybe they’re not an omen.
Maybe they’re the sign we’ve been needing, Tho…
That nature is still keeping her promises.
That timing still matters.
That good things can come up from the soul of earth—
all at once, and in harmony to bring a song.
The Magicicada has risen.
Not to destroy. Not to dominate.
But to lift the silence with a sound only the patient can make.
Let them sing.
Filed from the edge of the tree line, Kentucky
#Magicicada #FourteenYears #TheQuietIsOver
Intelligent People Assume Nothing – Built for readers. Not algorithms.