Fireflies and Memory

Fireflies carry for me a melancholy magic not entirely amenable to words. I believe the wistfulness I feel each summer when they appear has something to do with childhood fireflies, rising in the thousands above the shallow creek fronting my grandfather's old stone...

Fox Rests on the Top Rail

Fox Rests on the Top Rail

Fox sat on the fence, Reluctant to jump and run through one field or the other. Afraid to forgo The mouse in the patch That he’d never have time to explore. Crow flew on by with a wink and a grin and a crackling cry to his fellow, “Fox, poor old Fox, don’t hesitate...

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