Once, I shared a house in Staten Island, New York, with three room mates.
It's a four bed room house. It had a back door in the corner of the kitchen.
Out side of the door was a wooden terrace. And, I could overlook all thicket
next to our house from there. The terrace was so comfortable to me that
I read books, drank and even slept.
One summer evening, when I was on the terrace. I saw small flames in the
grass. Those flames spread over the thicket. "Fire?" I urgently
got down for putting off the flames. But I couldn't put 'em off. Somehow
it didn't have any smoke or smell.
I got close my face to the grass. And I figured out the flame. It's a firefly.
I relieved and then had been moved by the fact I could see the fireflies
in my house. The house was in thirty minutes distance from Manhattan. Actually,
I saw many little animals, like squirrels, around my house. But I wondered
where those fireflies had grown up. "Is there any clean water stream?"
In spite of the question, the scenery took part in my daily life soon.
I had drunk beers watching fireflies many time for all the summer. Comfortable
time was passing on the terrace. And I really loved it.
"Terrace" Staten Island, New York USA 1995
City of fatal ties Thinking about my identity vol.3