Live Virtual Group Session: 6PM EDT August 15th 2022

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem Deep Lane [June 23rd, evening of the first fireflies] by Mark Doty, posted below. 

Our prompt was: “Write about an evening—real or imagined–with fireflies.”

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

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Please join us for our next session Wednesday August 17th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.

Deep Lane [June 23rd, evening of the first fireflies] by Mark Doty

June 23rd, evening of the first fireflies,we're walking in the cemetery down the road,and I look up from my distracted study of whatever,

an unfocused gaze somewhere a few feet in front of my shoes,

and see that Ned has run on aheadwith the champagne plume of his tail held especially high,his head erect,

which is often a sign that he has something he believes he is not allowed 
to have,

and in the gathering twilight (what is it that is gathered,who is doing the harvesting?) I can make out that the long horizontalbetween his lovely jaws is one of the four stakes planted on the slope

to indicate where the backhoe will dig a new grave.

Of course my impulse is to run after him, to replace the marker,out of respect for the rule that we won't desecrate the tombs,or at least for those who knew the womanwhose name inks a placard in the rectangle claimed by the four poles

of vanishing—three poles now—and how it's within their recollection,their gathering, she'll live. Evening of memory. Sparklamps in the grass.I stand and watch him go in his wild figure eights,I say, You run, darling, you tear up that hill.

Credit: Copyright © by Mark Doty.

5 thoughts on “Live Virtual Group Session: 6PM EDT August 15th 2022

  1. Pam Poe

    Long ago, fireflies were an assumed part of summer’s wealth,
    Along with the other insects we’d see
    During the long, leisurely summers
    Of childhood.

    Even mosquito bites were a reluctant
    Badge of honor, proudly itched
    A recognition of evening walks
    And summer campfires.

    End of summer sounds were signals
    Of the crescendo and diminuendo
    of cicadas, their music a way of
    Attracting mates in the growing dark.

    But when the fireflies seemed to disappear
    So did an essential part of the world.
    Now it’s a relief, never assumed, always hoped for
    That we will see the green glowing lights once again.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. ebethnm

    a firefly caught in the confines
    of a room
    its light hidden
    identity concealed
    until gently
    released once more into its
    home of soft darkness
    A secret released

    Beth H

    Liked by 1 person

  3. About an evening with fireflies~~~

    A warm June evening… the sun falling below the illuminated horizon.
    I look out my window and see glimmering, bouncing sparks dancing about.
    The air is still, and if I cock my head a bit, I can hear the movements of these ethereal creatures as they begin their night journeys.
    Creatures who stay hidden in the grasses and bushes during the daylight hours, but emerge as the rays of moonlight call them forth.

    For me, these creatures are pathways of light in the darkness, pathways to find hope among the trials and tribulations of life.
    Gifts from Mother Nature… reminders that joy can be found even in the darkest moments of our lives.


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