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Standing on the porch savoring the taste of a cold Blue Moon, I pause. 
A day's work has ended. I watch as our border collie Rusty navigates the pasture, Herding cows into the barn. Each one moves to its proper stall, Finding their way, as we all do when we recognize our home. The sun has set. The last light of it’s feeble reach remains on the horizon, thin pale arms Reaching to draw the shade. The first star of the evening reveals itself 
As I turn my gaze northward past the old oak, where the rope swing hangs 
Like an exclamation point! Beyond this, there lies a hollow cave of dark, 
Formed by weeping willows rooted to the banks. This is where our farm begins. The creek unfolding from tears the willows cry, becoming a drink that nourishes the land. Life flows from the water as it flows from the earth. In the stillness of this evening I look to that dark place of origins, where the light is most absent. In that place, Just above the surface of the water, I see the first firefly of summer as it slowly blinks:      
	 I am here      I am here       I am here.
Others heed its call adding voices to the choir. The sleepy meadow fields 
Reflect the night stars above, fireflies mirrored below. They provide a glimpse of how the night has been forever. Crickets chirp, frogs croak, as cows begin their dream of greener fields. Here, I am lost and I am found.  Staring at the earth’s reflection I experience the quiet birth of bliss that comes from sudden realizations. At the height of our brightest light we become all of this, A passing memory. The light of our humanity pulsing as one heartbeat, 
Matching the fireflies light, as we blink into forever:    		
	we are here   we are here    we are here.

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