We thought our girls would come of age in a better world than the one that, at every turn, had tried to extinguish the dreams of their mothers.
The first firefly of the season greeted me last week at dusk, as I watered the hydrangeas sagging from the heat. It lingered for a moment, flashing here and there, impossible to ignore. I am not the species of female the firefly was trying to court, but I was inspired, nonetheless. These bright little bugs fly on the wings of memory for me.