Cicadas spend the majority of their lives underground as creeping, clawed things, scraping out a minimal existence beneath the soil, knowing only the roots of trees from which that suck minimal sustenance. Some species stay down for 17 years. Then it happens. A few at first, and then dozens, hundreds, tens of thousands emerge all over at the same time, triggered by the change of seasons or some internal clock or some Other. They scale the roots, break the surface, and head up into the trees. About halfway up, they pause, and split. Over the course of a few hours the brown, dull, creeping things are left behind, replaced by iridescent, vibrantly colored, winged forms. Slowly the wings unfold and the new flesh dries. And then they ascend into the treetops, covering the hillsides in their alien choir-song.
Sound familiar? I bet it does.
What if it happened to the mind of an entire world?