From the Journal
2 July 2009
Independence Day. The Fourth of July. Firecracker Day.
Three of the last four days I’ve had to go into town. Enough already.
People asking, “What are you doing for The Fourth?”
Holidays signal much going and doing.
Hustle and bustle.
Tonight as dusk approached I walked in the field. There is a mowed path that takes me west toward the trees, then upward and north, coming back down again to just beyond what serves as our front yard.
The prairie grass is taller than I am. The Black-eyed Susan’s are thick, as are the ferns and Lady’s Mantle. The sound of water a few yards away is from the creek below the bluff. It is always our background music here. There are so many whippoorwills calling tonight that I can not separate them into distinct calls. As I approach the rise at the far north edge the trees are so thick with locust it is as if they are shaking from the noise, like an ancient shaman rattling a rainstick.
And the fireflies. Oh the fireflies! They are my joy this year. I’ve never seen them so thick as they are around our new house. Some fly as high as the tree tops, and some buzz my ankles. From twilight to almost dawn thousands will flit and fly on what looks like a mystical journey of faeries in our field.
Let others go and do. I’ll watch my own little show of bright lights in the night.
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