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February 2, 2007
A mother lingers on the porch swing, watching her baby daughter chase fireflies in the dusk. She washed the night’s dishes, she prepared tomorrow’s lunch. Her husband walks the dog around the block, stopping to exchange pleasantries with any neighbors he meets. She uses the moment to exhale.

The light aren’t fe-erflies. They’re fairies. If I catch one, she will be my friend. We will make a tent in my bed with my blankets and she will light up the room, like a camp light. Then she will invite me to stay in fairy land.

Fly away from the beast!