We used to run through our yard in the dark trying desperately to catch fireflies in our hands. Floating yellow beacons against a black night that drew us to them. We’d run after them, gently catch them between our palms, and leave just enough open space to peek through our fingers and watch them light up in our hands before letting them fly off again. 

 I miss those fireflies.

In that same yard, we’d lie on our backs in the spring and summer and watch clouds like cotton balls float across the sky. They’d masquerade as bears, dragons, snakes, dogs, birds. But we knew they were clouds. They couldn’t fool us.

Sometimes planes would pass overhead and I’d run with them across the yard and I swore I could move as fast as they did. The whole length of our yard I’d keep up with them until they disappeared over the wood line. And then they were gone. And I’d go back to watching bears and dragons float by in the sky, but they were really clouds. 

Sometimes I dream that I’m in that yard. My friends and I run and play and I’m a child again, sprinting as fast as I can to outrun the planes overhead. And I feel like I have finally come home. 

To my sly clouds and fireflies in the night sky.