It was the dawn of another summer,
I sat on the porch
in June's lengthening shadows,
breathing in the scents of evening;
flowers and humidity,
warm air and fresh mowed grass,
and I recalled that as a child,
so many years ago,
summer had been my favorite season.
As darkness overcomes the day,
in this lethargic twilight,
a neon flash
here,
then there,
and yet another as lightning bugs,
fireflies,
dance randomly in my yard.
And I think of childhood summers,
and of my first love,
a girl with golden hair and
eyes that twinkled blue in the sunlight,
and how we laughed together
catching fireflies
and we would smile shyly,
warmed by some feeling from
the inside out.
We were light and magic and wonder,
full of innocence and forever dreams,
as fireflies sparked
in childhood eyes.
Now, as the moon is unveiled
from a shroud of gray clouds,
I stand breathing in the night air,
pausing before going inside,
to watch the fireflies wink and glow,
and wonder if somewhere
there is a woman with golden hair
watching her children chase
fireflies,
and maybe, for a brief moment,
thinking of me.
