Outside in the yard one evening, a little voice popped up…
I turned to see my small gardening companion who sometimes stops
by after school to converse as I weed or plant, trim and sweep.  “What are you doing in the garden today?”, my friend queries.  “Today I shall trim the viney-thing, which has gotten too large and is covering over these other small plants.”  “Yes”, my companion agrees, “my father has trimmed our viney-thing and has done a good job of it with his sharp scissors.”  “Excellent”, I say.

“And now, let’s talk about bugs.”  What kind of bugs do we like?  We don’t like mosquitoes, they chase us into the house and keep us from the garden.  We don’t like spiders inside the house, but they are ok outside.  My friend appreciates ladybugs and butterflies, and so do I.  I remark that my favorites are the ones that light up.  “And what were those called”, she asks, trying to remember.  “Fireflies”, I say.  I tell her that the fireflies will start very soon, and that fast approaching is one of my favorite times of the year, when at just the right time of dusk, I can step out onto the back patio and watch as all the fireflies float through the air blinking their call to each other, and admire how beautiful they are.  “Like low stars”, she says,  “Yes”, I say, “like low stars”.

The soft rain of a summer evening has been falling as we talk, enough to water the ground but without drenching us as we putter.  The rain becomes steadier and before we are soaking wet, I scurry inside to grab the umbrella, the big one that looks like it has Monet’s garden all around it, and with that bright green painted garden over our heads we walk through the wet flowers and stones right to mom’s kitchen door.

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