twinklings

 When I'm not too tired, I go out after dark (a little after nine), and look for the fireflies. This is their time, the peak of firefly season. I stand on the bridge and look to the left; I see flashes of light here, there, near, a way off; I turn right and they are flashing among the tall weeds along the brook's edge. I look up and see some in the tree-top and sometimes they come along the grass near my feet. I wonder why I don't get a chair and just sit there for a length of time? But it's hard to burn the candle at both ends at my age.

Like children we stand and stare, watching the field
that twinkles where gold wisps fare to the end
of dusk, as the sudden sphere, ivory shield
aloft, of moon stands clear of the world's far bend.

- from Fireflies, by Fred Chappell