Rear Window
Speeding down the inclined terrain at dusk, the fireflies are just visible — fluttering off and on, on and off.
A tiny light perches on the windshield, glowing momentarily, immediately flying off.
As the road navigates down, so the fields rise up.
The steady climb to the top of each mountain is rewarded with a view of the valley below, traversing up and down, down and up.
Meadows stretch up the sides of the mountains painting the scene the colour of burlap.
Skirting the tarmac are micro universes, glimmering fireflies, tracing uncharted aerial paths, blinking off and on, on and off.
Shadows in the form of trees whir past the car windows, rising up and up.
Cooling mountain air converts its humidity from daylight warmth to barely discernible mist, washing the scenes before us of colour.
Headlights ascending towards us pierce the night sky — on; hugging the road’s descent — off.
The meadows’ waving grasses attract the mist, taking on a softer texture, as the sun arcs down and the moon comes up.
Briefly outshining the fireflies, the car’s headlights illuminate the meadows as the car continues up and down, down and up.
Looking out the back window, fireflies and mist lay behind us in tendrils unfurling like ferns.
