Everyone must be familiar with cicadas. Cicadas are the singers of summer. Whenever summer comes, cicadas emerge from the soil and start singing.

So, below is a collection of essays about cicadas that I compiled for you. I hope you like them.

Chapter 1: Essay about Cicadas In the hot summer, are you listening carefully to the cicadas chirping?

It's not like a frog's call, which is short and jumping like a drumbeat, but long, high-pitched and persistent, "hissing, hissing", like an erhu.

If the frog is the drummer in the summer pastoral orchestra, then the cicada is the string musician.

Just imagine: the heat is unbearable, the branches are motionless, and even the geese and ducks gather under the shade of the trees. Without the high-pitched playing of this string musician, how lonely it would be!

There is such an idiom called "The golden cicada sheds its shell." I'm so lucky. I have seen such an experience of a cicada shedding its shell.

On the tree trunk, I found a cicada.

It is about four to five centimeters long and has a needle-like mouth that only protrudes when it sucks juice. It always stays close to the abdomen when flying.

The eyes are bulging, but not as big as those of a fly.

There are also three less sensitive eye spots between the eyes.

The light and thin wings are simply distributed with thin tubes that play a supporting role.

Soon, I found another cicada on the tree.

It was motionless, as if everything had stopped, and it was not panicked by my arrival.

I was surprised to find that it was covered with a thin brown shell.

It, this little life, is transforming!

At first, along the center line of the cicada's back, the cicada shell cracked a very small crack. Then, the cicada kept squirming inside, and the shell shook violently, just like the struggle before death.

, making my heart clenched tightly.

The gap continued to grow with the shaking, and at this time, its green back was exposed.

It kept struggling and shaking.

That crack is getting bigger and bigger.

After a while, its head covered with black patterns popped out first, looking at the world around it with wide eyes.

It is still moving and has never stopped.

How long until it comes out!

I couldn't help but feel anxious about it.

Gradually, one of its legs stretched out and rested on the shell, slowly.

Suddenly there was a sudden movement, and the wings and tail squeezed out together.

I saw it calmly, stepping on its newly shed shell, dusting its wings, stretching its calves, then spreading its huge wings and flying towards the distant sun.

Only the cicada shell that was still warm was left on the tree, clinging tightly to the trunk.

I thought: The cicada is in pain when it transforms, but it is also happy.

Doesn’t the end of the old life mean the arrival of the new life?

I praise the cicada.

Chapter 2: A composition about cicadas Cicadas are the gurgling water and the sound of bells.

Outside the window.

On the tree.

The cicadas are noisy.

An upset person becomes even more upset after hearing this.

Who would think that this hoarse chirping is the cicada’s enthusiastic cheers for this midsummer?

It's already midsummer.

Returning to the camphor tree, I always have the camphor summer in Guo Si's works in my mind - the layers of camphor tree are layered with only a few gaps left to let the sun shine down. Under the camphor tree, there is a faint confusion and a touch of sadness that seems familiar.

, a faint earthy fragrance of youth.

Although I walked under the camphor tree every day when I came in and out of the dormitory, I never stood quietly and peacefully for a long time.

However, I learned from my mother that this tree is camphor.

At that moment, I had a feeling: everyone has experienced the summer solstice under the camphor tree.

The coincidence of the national examination gave me the opportunity to return to the classroom next to the camphor tree for self-study. I also had the opportunity to appreciate the red camphor tree flowers again and see clearly the passionate midsummer.

The blackboard on the back wall of the classroom is still clearly the crazy graffiti we made before leaving. It carries our wishes, blessings, and immortal dreams.

In a state of confusion, we spent the second year of high school - the year in which I grew the most. Now we are escaping from the heat in a panic, just to have a good sleep in the air-conditioned classroom.

We may not understand whether we are chasing air conditioning or running away from heat.

It's just like we can't figure out whether our youth is running wildly, or whether we are passing through our youth while running wildly.

The song "Air Conditioning Song", which was written in the early morning when poetry was in full swing, has the scenery in front of the classroom building in the background, and it is not a mere taste.

The morning light leaps into the sky, the light breaks through the forest leaves, the glazed gold tiles touch the green arowana diving into the blue waves, the fragrant path in the small garden, the green shade of the stone woman's basket is full of red, she stands leaning on the dangerous building, leaning on the railing in silence, smiling at the fallen flowers falling to the ground, but she is invincible, and the cool breeze blows.

Whispering, I was so happy to hold her that the cool breeze was still blowing out from the air outlet.

The classroom is closed and there is a cold refrigerator.

Do you still hear the sweet chirping of cicadas outside the window?

Oh, it turns out that it is still noisy in my heart.

Chapter 3: Composition about Cicada The day before yesterday, I picked up a cicada from the woods. I picked it up and saw that it was a dead cicada. I decided to take it home as a specimen for observation.

When I put it on the table and looked at it carefully, I was attracted by its appearance.

It is so beautiful, its body is black and shiny, its eyes are yellow and bulging out, a bit like a goldfish.