I just took the dogs outside for one last run around the yard, and stopped on the flagstone path by one side of the fence, and looked up at the stars just beyond the limbs of the oak across the street that reaches over most of our side yard as well as the neighbors’.
Except, they weren’t all stars. The blinking little lights were lightning bugs. They were not, as they were just a few days ago, hovering around my ankles or weaving their way through the shrubbery. They had climbed even as high as the upper branches of the oak, making it a great dome when at other nights of the year it is simply a vast hulk.
Down the hill, someone had started a fire — the smell of woodsmoke was all around. I pictured one of my neighbors in front of a cold fireplace filled with a few old newspapers and the last couple of logs from the wood-pile who thought that now might be a good time just to burn it all, sick of looking at it. And besides, it is Saturday night.
Then, the dogs were done, and now we are all in for the night.