It's an unmistakably Southern Evening; the deep blue air of twilight is almost too warm, heavy with the scent of honey-sweet blossoms, and cicadas are droning on in that timeless summer soundtrack. A firefly winks at me from beneath a distant tree, a promise of the dance to come, and I laugh, delighted by his magic. How could I have forgotten fireflies?
Moments like this, perfect moments, remind me that as much as I do not miss living in the South, I do miss certain aspects of it. There is a deep and abiding nostalgia that will never fade- nor do I want it to.
But loving memories of a time and a place is not the same as wanting it back. I am far happier in the corner of the world I've claimed as my own, in the life I've carved for myself from cold mists and silver rains.
(But I do wish the fireflies would visit.)