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Fireflies – June 2013


It’s that feeling one only feels at dusk. The time of day when the sky is darkening and the noisy town settles into a quiet hush.

I feel it tonight as I take my seat on the grass in order to enjoy the sight of my daughter collecting fireflies, avoiding the dachshund racing in wide circles about her.

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. It feels peaceful.

Life seems to be happening too fast nowadays. Worries about?launching?a book crowd my mind, alongside the age-old concern of?finances. I realize I haven’t felt able to just breathe.

“Here.” My daughter thrusts her fist in my direction. “Open your hand.”

When I do so, she dumps a solitary firefly on it.

“Watch,” she orders.

An orange-stripped bug crawls over my palm. Strangely, I can’t feel its tiny legs moving over my skin, though I distinctly recall the sensation from childhood. Maybe my skin is tougher. Maybe I need it to be in order to survive book?critics. Maybe the novel won’t even interest a book critic. The tiny insect?reaches the tip of my finger and spreads its wings. Effortlessly it lifts into the air.

If only it were that easy.

“They always do that,” my daughter, informs me. “They wait until they reach the tips of your fingers before taking off. It makes it more beautiful.”

I smile, enjoying her attempt to lecture me on childlike wonder. Doubtlessly, to her it seems an impossibility?that I, too, once chased fireflies.

The next ten?minutes?are filled with my daughter capturing and bringing fistfuls of fireflies to me. For some reason it delights her to dump them in my hand so I can enjoy the sight of them talking flight.

As each one lifts off my fingers, I wonder if I’m worrying too much.

What ever is going to happen is going to happen.

By the time darkness falls and I stand to brush the grass off my pants, we both are refreshed.

Peace has replaced stress.

Image:?Fancy House Road

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