in the early evening, when the sun is setting and the smells of pine and moisture are in the air, the fireflies come out in rural iowa. when i was a very small girl, i chased their tiny lights and captured them between my palms. if i cupped my hands, and peeked in to the darkness, i could see the faint firefly glow.
my siblings and i put them in glass jars, punching air holes in the lid and giving them a twig to perch on. we kept them, twinkling, until morning, and then we let them go.
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