by Ethel Mortenson Davis
We, as children,
celebrated the arrival of fireflies,
calling them lightning bugs.
We danced with them
in the meadows,
collected them in glass jars.
Some of us
took their thoraces,
rubbing them on the backs
of our T-shirts,
letters glowing in the dark.
We didn’t know their light
was sacred–
that this gift brightened
our backwoods swamp,
lighthouses called to mind
in our walled-off childhood.
fourwindowspress 
Brings back memories.
I’m glad. Ethel
I love this one, Ethel. We didn’t have lightning bugs in the northwest and remember the first time seeing them (as a kid) in Nebraska, when my family was on a cross country trip. Magical!
I am grateful for this, Ethel:
TWO ROADS
While Teaching
Is a sacred calling
An opening
An awakening
An endless blessing
This (Mis)education
Better called Schooling
Is demonic
Is a lifelong blight
Is a shackle and a curse
This is interesting Ray. Thanks. Ethel