It flew in at five a.m.
and landed on my pillow.
I knew there would be no more sleep.

Hoping it might fly away
I took it outside, surprised to find
the air cool and fresh so near the summer solstice.

The sky was that shade of blue that forms a perfect background
for heavy-leafed maples.
Yet I could see a lighter hue in the east.

From the depths of a small shrub
I saw a tiny light going off and on.
It was a firefly. I thought of a Christmas tree

with all its lights burned out
except for one saying Here I am, Here I am.
And I find myself saying the same thing,

Here I am. Then comes the inevitable question:
but for how long? I sat on the porch for a while
and watched the sky grow brighter.

Then I heard the three-note call of a dove
and thought of my mother
who called them “Mourning Doves.”
.

epa:7/3/25 Elaine Parker Akin