"Each night before I go to sleep I try to catch them like a child chasing after fireflies on a summer night, running around with an open jar, ready to snap the lid on the second one flies inside.
Once it's inside I can hold it up, examine it closely from all angles, watch it softly glowing, illuminating the inside of the jar. I line the jars up on the edge of the weathered wooden porch rail, one next to the other, and stand back, watching them glow, lighting up a piece of the black night.
They'll never really be fireflies as long as they're in those jars, they'll light up one square inch of world for a moment, then cease to exist. They forever remain thoughts, ideas, projects stuck inside a glass jar, trying to get out.
One by one I unscrew the tops and let them loose into the dark. Maybe they'll come back to me. . ."
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