Fireflies of Memory

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As we wind our way north to visit family and friends in the "upper Midwest" we have taken to stopping for a couple of days to rest and recharge at a B&B called the Beaumont Inn in Harrodsburg, Kentucky. I was walking around the grounds at dusk when I was visited by some old childhood friends:

Fireflies of Memory

They are fireflies of memory,

Whose tiny votive candles
Bless the rolling lawns 

Of this stately old home.

As evening darkens the skies

Of western Kentucky

They rise from the clover 

In startling numbers.

I remember, I believe,

Similar displays from childhood.

In Ohio, Michigan, and South Dakota,

They would call us into dusk.

Armed with Mason jars,

Lids punctured in futile compassion,

We created short-lived nightlights,

That bathed our bedrooms in wonder.

I do not truly know if those

Childhood excursions

Featured fireflies equal to

Last night's stunning profusion.

But I choose to remember that they did. 

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