Firefly in the sunset

In those days, I would wake up inundated with fragmented dreams. There would be particles of afterthoughts in my memory which glowed in the distant horizon. Like those buzzing fireflies. That's where the inspiration for a name came. Not that I enjoyed Entomology, in the least. But these lights used to churn around in my conscience state, and then I had to put it down in the material world. Kind of like, words behind a picture postcard. They tell a story. Everything connects to everything and words weave a web of imagination. And a firefly is in the middle of it all. Sometimes reflecting, sometimes absorbing, but never quite failing to light up the void around. Sometimes the tiny little being would make tangible sense of the material. Like sketching in a perfect symmetry. And sometimes, it would be a jumble of white noise. The frequencies intersecting and giving up a soundless screech. If you would only tune yourself, you could hear the failings. You could make sense of the perfect balance of nature, only if you would follow the trail of the firefly. Or you could watch it disappear into the sunset, where ether mingles with the clouds. The firefly and it's web of sparkles, forming and untangling as the lights change colour.