The noise that heals
Standing under a tree whose name she never learned, surrounded by a sound so loud it erased everything else. Cicadas — thousands of them, invisible, screaming into the April heat like tiny engines of pure, irrational aliveness.
Part therapy. Part madness. You cannot see them. You cannot stop them. You can only stand there and let the noise wash through you until the mind finally gives up trying to manage the moment — and just surrenders to it.