Fireflies

I was interrupted while writing in my journal when the power cut off. A loud pop came from around the corner. I saw the power lines shake and swing on poles bordering my yard. The sun hid between the branches. I lit a few candles. People started walking outside. A man walking his black pug I’d never seen before, neighborhood chattering, and kids voices of laughter filled the empty streets.
My neighbors started playing salsa music in their cars for entertainment. A party was inevitable. Traffic was getting detoured into the neighborhood; first, a few cars, then a couple of speeding trucks, a dozen more cars, and I even watched long enough to see a city bus. I thought maybe somebody hit one of the powerline polls. As it turns out, a tree had cracked and fallen on powerline cables around the corner.
I looked through the window, and out between the bars of my front gate of the cold night. A man I believe a dad was pushing a little go-cart with his son, couldn’t have been more than five years of age, seated inside, his daughter holding his hand. I sat quietly with my pencil, flashlight and a jar filled with lights resembling fireflies.

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