After more than a decade living in New York, the sound of cicadas returns me instantly to an Aotearoa summer. Year of the Cicada follows my return to a place made unfamiliar through distance. Its slowness, heightened by New York’s pace, feels comforting and frustrating in equal measure. Through portraits, landscapes and domestic details, I photograph the rituals I once overlooked: washing drying beside the bach, picnic remnants, days shaped by weather and water. Family members grow older between visits, while my children enter the summer rhythms that shaped me. The cicadas sound much as they always have, while everything around them changes. The series considers how travel reshapes the mind, how distance can make the familiar foreign, and where, after years away, I belong.