New friends

It is a comfortable summer night. The air has finally cooled with the evening. Sun light escapes past the horizon. There is about an hour of visible light left.
I dress, put on my walking shoes, snatch my camera and keys on the way out the door.

I take the usually route, through the decaying downtown, strangled buildings reminders of better days. I see the open lot where the carni has been setting up for days, inadvertanetly holding my breath. I know they will have cotton candy, but not today. I am disappointed again, exsparated I exhale.

Hanging a left, I watch the crew struggle with some maintainence task. My destination nearly hidden by the mutliple trailers. The red stairs call me, and I wecome the sight. I hang for moment mid stair case, absorbing the essence of this little oasis. The air is cooler here, the smell earthier yet hints of flowering sweetness. I look about but the source cannot be found. The hum of tires on pavement drifts away replaced by the distant trickle of stream and melody of bird song.



Reaching the wooden walkway my step beat out a hollowed rythym. The light penetrates weakly under the tree canapy, below the hill. The scene is restorative to my soul. The land flat, punctuated by pavilion, swings, picnic tables and trees. The whole acreage hugged by brisk, cool water tumbling down its arching path ducking under the stoic bridges. To the far right is a the stone train bridge, I imagine its nearly as old as the town its self. The far left defines the northern border with its car bridge and parking lot.





Long strides loop with the wooden path, the stream tickles my ears more urgently. I duck under the low hanging mulberry tree branches, mindfull not to slip on the overripe falling berries. New sweetness penetrates my nares, my mouth waters. Several times I follow the loop, relaxing into every step I note the children come and go. Minutes later, smiling and waving to the couple looking for a quiet place to connect.



A gentleman crosses my path. Pleasantries exchange but I never miss a stride. Another loop and again we meet. This time the conversation is engaging. He is clean, mid 40's maybe, dark haired and tan skin. His voice is warm like fresh baked bread. I keep my distance as we talk for safety sake, mentally noting where the couple I greeted earlier rest now.

The light is fading. The fireflies have steadily increased in numbers. He is intrigued, with light accent and perfect English he inquires about the lights. I explain the fireflies, even catch one to show him up close. The poor scared little black and red with delicate wings dark in my hand. We watch the glow ignite shortly after it leaves my hand.

We talk of family, and business and travel. Nicola was born in Monte Negro. He still has family there. It is apparent he misses the ocean. The converstaion is pleasant but he excuses himself and fades into the ever increasing darkness.

I continue my pacing of the boards. The firefly light enticing a whimisical smile. I notice them in the mowed field and in the peripheral bushes. I see the scattered, wandering lights blink reflectively in the stream. The stream banks foliage nearly alive with intermittent glow. Its as if my own personal fireworks have arrived with the dusk.

It is truely magical. I feel blessed. I feel serene. Multiple times I say to myself.... just one more pass then I will go home. I want to lay in the grass. I want to put everything on hold for an eternity. Reluctantly I make the last step off the wooden path towards the cement. Walking back through town my sences are acutely alert and sorely dissapointed. But I take with me the whispers of the faeries and my heart flutters.