Fireflies Twinkle

fireflies twinkle as we walk a dirt road, dust kicks up as you scrape your feet, too hot to lift them in the day, too lazy to pick them up as the sun goes down and and evening begins. I see them in the unlit space; this place, a lake view that was and is gone, now bush and rubbish discarded by your neighbours, and you, left piling stinking rotten until someone sets fire to a pile and sends ash skywards; dry heat into the humidity and as the sun goes down the embers twinkle and the last of the fire flies.