Life, Death, Rebirth

The days of the fireflies ended when the first leaf fell.

Sun sank, and the river swallowed red like a greedy well. Water rippled and her margin flowed back and forth. Rays like diluted ink disappeared, drip by drip. Beady eyes stared and waited in the shadows for the moon to rise. As silvery blanket poured over hills, over streams, sparks flared and jumped from tree to tree. Distorted reflections wavered and faded, then flared back to life.

It was the night of the fireflies, when their light burst the brightest. Glittery wings fluttered about the water surface. No care for the world, no thought of the future.

"We live the present..."

With my eyes on them, I wept. How they danced through their last hours, how they burnt. Then they vanished. Sparks flared no more.
Through my tears, I saw stars scattering, bright against the night sky.

The hours of the fireflies had ended.

And the first leaf fell.