Cicadas begin our journey,
tiny tour guides
leading us to the Kentucky River Outlook,
the brown water still muddied 
from last night’s storm. 

We balance in one another’s hands,
step over puddles, rocks, 
the earth beneath us
carved deep with memory. 

I slip, stumble, never fall. 
We pause to watch a centipede scurry between us,
listen to a barred owl’s hoot,
his nights and days turned inside out. 

Hand in hand, 
we move deeper into Nature’s Sanctuary
toward rushing creek currents 
and silver splashing waterfalls. 

Storm runoff trickles 
along sharp stone edges
filtering through damp moss
and into your laughing mouth. 

The joy of us echoes
between the bases of oak trees,
creating ripples in the streams
as cicadas roar in tune–
first with me, then you. 

These are the moments I carry through May,
when cicadas uproot themselves from the earth 
to sing the sounds of us between their wings.
Our journey will live in the breeze
until the trees stop growing
and silence settles where our laughter stays.