Time for Fireflies

Woke up at 4 A.M. and Warren asked if I heard the noises outside. He got up to go out and investigate, then reported 2 animals in the far wood shed; probably raccoons or porcupines, I think to myself. We enjoy a cup of coffee, return to bed around 6. As I write these words, it’s just past 10 a.m., very hot, humid and hazy — the 3–rrr’s of a classic Ontario summer day.

This will be the last week of school for public school kids in this area. I remember how that last week of school dragged. I remember when it finally ended — I never did figure out how to speed up time — I would think about July and August, ten or so weeks; the time allotted me seemed to stretch out endlessly, no school, hot swimming weather, unplanned days of summer vacation, and it did.

Now… the opposite.

I look ahead to July and August and wonder how to slow time’s passage, but it never does; the weeks fly by like the reels of an old–fashioned projector, spinning so fast you cannot see the reel’s four or five fat spokes.

Fireflies drift,
     embracing velvet heat;
          dark nights float by
In silence,
     broken only by the
          flash of their bright
Expression.
                   — dance of the fireflies
                   — w.e.s., June 23rd, 2013
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