Trudy and Izzy had retired to the teardrop. Twilight was fading to dusk. A hint of day lingered in the western sky over the lake, but night was gathering in shadows beneath the trees on the hill.
As I sat in a folding chair gazing at the fading day and at the encroaching night, fireflies began to flicker. Here and there, near and far. In between. Multiplying and multiplied. Bubbling and blinking. Golden effervescence in the deepening darkness.
As the minutes passed, the blinking climbed higher and I grew sleepy. I joined Trudy and Izzy in the trailer, and as I lay my head on my pillow and gazed out the window up into the canopy of overhead trees, the bravest of the fireflies were blinking in the darkness above. I counted two or three but no more. Because I quickly fell asleep.