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I remember a recent note to a friend; “I wish for you the curiosity of a child chasing butterflies by day and fireflies by night.”  She liked what I wrote.  I thought about using this theme to write a poem, wrote a draft and went to bed.  I tossed and turned  wondering, “where are the fireflies this year?” I hadn’t seen even one and wistfully looked from my bed into the darkness,  hoping to see the light of a firefly.  Drifting in an out of sleep, my mind still on memories of driving home on June evenings and catching sight of them, stopping to watch the fairy lights flicker in the wetland meadows. Feeling disappointment, blaming environmental changes, I drifted off to sleep

Seemingly without a reason, within an hour, I awoke to a spot of light high on the ceiling. One spot of light, a reflection I thought. Perhaps the moon illuminating something in the room.  Then it moved, it flickered its’ light, flittering about the ceiling and wall.  Half asleep I smiled, mesmerized as I watched the one fairy light flutter its’ brightness. The five year old part of me was thrilled, I wished for a firefly and like magic she came to me. Mesmerized, I basked in her glow of how good life can be.

Then, as always, I found the need to break the magic spell.  Don’t ask me why.  I turned on the light.

Above my head on the ceiling was a black bug.  O, yes, it was the firefly but the adult part of me after midnight only saw a black bug looking down on me.

The firefly I wished for now was a problem.

I laid awake staring up at her while  contemplating possible solutions, none of which seemed appealing.

I turned off my light, she turned on hers and I, in the glow of fairy light, fell asleep.