"When everything else has gone from my brain ... what will be left, I believe, is topology: the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that." Annie Dillard
Searching for bats, I see blurred forms cut through the darkness, visible only when they cross a patch of still-blue sky.
As sunlight vanishes, fireflies rouse themselves from the ground, blink and twinkle as they flutter their way to the treetops.
Closer to where I'm sitting, the deck lights snap to attention. They've been storing sunlight all day and now release it.
Two types of night light on an early July evening.
posted by Anne Cassidy at
8:21 AM
I’m a writer and editor, the author of "Parents Who Think Too Much" and a freelancer published everywhere from the "New York Times" to "Woman’s Day." I’ve been scribbling my thoughts in one tattered notebook or another for most of my life, but this blog is the first time I’ve gone public. I'm glad you've landed here, and I hope you visit often.
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