cicadas and fireflies

A friend of mine from LA spent two days with my family and me. He is traveling to New York on his motorcycle, and he's never been east of the Mississippi.

The first night he was here, he was amazed at the sight of fireflies and the sound of cicadas in my backyard. I took him to the river, where we hiked through a dry creek bed and took pictures in a field of corn. It was beautiful seeing someone experience something for the first time--something I've taken for granted my entire life.

I have to admit I'm a little sad now that he's gone. It was nice not being lonely for a little bit. Sure, I have my family. They're great people, despite their oft-negative quirks. But they're not the type of people I would feel comfortable with sharing my deepest thoughts. I doubt they would even understand some of the ideas that brew in my mind.

So now I'm sitting, alone, in the back porch swing, listening to the chorus of cicadas and lazily watching the light show of the fireflies.

I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. I feel as though I'm stuck in a time rift between memory and fantasy.