Shards, scraps, sounds.
Piecemeal: a meal in components, in contributions, beans and salads in pots, burgers and dogs in buns. All the assembled stuffs, all my assembled people. And after dinner, after porch-sitting, after the packing up and sending everyone home, a first walk out into the near-dark with only a sleeveless dress on: the walking low and long, hard to the ground at my heels, frogs whirbling in the woods.
Then a blink, a prick of greeny yellow, another, another. Enough to stop me cold at the side of the road to be sure I was actually seeing what I was seeing: the summer's second sky, not-stars flicking again again again in the trees: the year's first fireflies, so soon.
2 Comments:
That's a great omen! We've rescued two fireflies, or luciƩrnagas in Spanish, inside the house (we don't know what they're doing inside) but we haven't seen any outside yet.
Ironically, they may be heading toward the light, eh?
The Spanish word for them is fantastic. Thanks for that!
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