First Fireflies.

There is a vacant lot across from my apartment and from my desk I have an unobstructed view of it. For the entire morning two guys were chopping at the weeds, wading in up to their chests, one with a sputtering weed whacker and the other with a swinging machete. Seeing the second one was like seeing an animation of New York Times photo today of men beating opposition party members in Zimbabwe (unfortunately the photo didn't make it onto the website).

I watched their progress from my window, the machete swinger holding his own against the gas-guzzler. When they finished cutting their way through the weeds, they moved out onto the sidewalk. I winced at the machete blade on concrete for an entire hour as the second man, raising his safari hat to periodically wipe at his sweat, beat against volunteer weeds in the cracks.

Now my street is quiet and the sun has gone down and I see the first two fireflies I have seen this year, floating above the whacked weeds like dandelion seeds, slowly blinking their lights like distant light houses.