From My Journal

There were fireflies tonight. The air became magic. Silent, a quiet breeze, just a softness on the cheek, then the gentle, tiny spark of light against the velvet dark, then another, and another.

The peonies nod their delicate pink faces in the breeze,
sharing their uncapturable, heavenly fragrance with the garden.

The tiger lilies have joined the dance to speak of things yellow and black, while the roses join their ruby perfume to the night.

I rejoice in the in the wonder and delight of an evening filled with tiny points of light all in velvet gold against the velvet black of night, points of reference and of sweetness....

Against the horror of a world filled with terror in the black and dreadful violence, utter torture and despair, is there beauty...do they see the fireflies there? I care.

Devastated by the obscenity of war, I watch the flawless night, and wonder is it the same for them, if they are able to watch, can they still see the fireflies? What must we do or is it truly river flow...I feel connected to the souls in pain even if they do not know me. I want their pain to stop so they can love the night again.