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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.

Jul. 2005

Today's piece
"Terrace" Staten Island, New York USA 1995

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