The Fireflies that Come with Growing Older On the Porch at 7 AM with My Cousin. Fireflies have gone to sleep, but we’re talking about whatever ten-year-olds do. “What if . . .” “What if this is the hell that Preacher has been shouting about?” “Where could we go worse than here?” One more lightning bug flickers and burns out. Two Hours Pass and My Cousin Is Asleep. Oh, we thought we were so clever—a meeting of the minds millions of miles down below an Ohioan sun wriggling up to meet the crops, hungry and green. We could be onto something but there’s no way for me to know. If we’re right, I’ll meet you years from now— Wherever it is we go.
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