When I left my home in Fearrington Village, NC to attend my nephew's Duke Physician Associate graduation ceremony not long ago, the woods were whirring with the sound of Brood XIX of the 13-year cicadas, an entomological phenomenon indigenous to our area. They made a surrealistic and inorganic sound; like a spaceship - a whirring, sometimes rising to a roaring, whirring din. Earlier during my morning run, I'd crunched many dead that had fallen out of the trees onto the road. Recalling that...