The last few days, whenever I step outside or even open a window, I'm assaulted by Seventeen-Year Locust Surround-Sound. (They're officially cicadas, but I grew up with locust.) I have to say I like it, though I'm less fond of the crunch-crunch-crunch when I walk on the sidewalk.
They're all members of "Brood X," which sounds like a low-budget horror movie until you realize that the "X" is a Roman numeral. There are apparently XII broods, each with its own territory and on its own schedule. Plus III broods of 13-year locusts, which I hadn't known about until today. The parks people hung a helpful sign on a tree in our little neighborhood park:
Here's a better look at that map.
The National Park Service did a nice FAQ, which includes this note:
By coming out in huge numbers, all the predators that eat cicadas can get their fill and there will still be plenty of cicadas left to breed and perpetuate the species. It’s a survival strategy called prey satiation.
Down at the streambed, the crocs are gone. Maybe the ducks ate them.