Feed on


The day began early; I hope it is a long one.

Up at 3:30, I pace the room, now a makeshift infirmary. Moving from towel to towel, searching for one not yet damp with my own urine.

The windows are open and I am drawn to what is calling me. I hear the peepers—and something else too. Despite the hour, momma is up now, pulling on her boots. She has understood.

We step into the world outside our house and begin our walk. Through diaphanous mist we tread. Slowly, for it is dark. The clouds have all but obscured our moon. A rain of tears will wash the sky this special morning.

We wander up the drive, passing my favorite trees; paper cut outs in a murky wash.  Intermittent flickers of light dance around us. Teasing us to come further. Into the meadow. Down the hill. They seem tentative. Unsure. But they do not leave us.

“Look pup,” momma whispers, for it is still very early and not even the birds have awakened yet. “My precious pup. Do you see the fireflies?” she asks.

I see momma, but those are not fireflies. It is a host of angels come to show me the way. Do not be sad. I will tell them to wait, but not too long. Do not be sad. I am not quite ready yet.

One Response to “Fireflies”

  1. Marcy says:

    Ah, pup. These are hard days, but you have a good momma by your side. We just lost our Toby on a day that began early. But our days, still, are better for the seven years we had with her. I hope your days have been many, I know they’ve been full and happy.

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