Summer sounds like cicadas to me, mainly. Cicadas back in Seoul were gleaming creatures whose metallic singing could be heard clean across the schoolyard and through the window into my second-floor math class. Here in Hamilton, they’re a little more elusive; they’re invisible amidst the leafy boughs, but their voices have the same high-energy vibration, a shiny sound. Summer also sounds like the squeaking of a sunset-colored nectarine as you wash it under a stream of water. Also like trucks idling across the street.
Fall sounded like rain and lectures, last time I checked. Wait until I fly back to Tennessee, and October eventually drifts over Memphis, and we’ll see if that’s still true.
