fourth_of_july_fireworks raze five days out of the last seven, i've seen at least one of hoppy's_children. sometimes i catch both of them eating together. usually it's just the one on her own. i found her in the back yard on the weekend. i slid into black slippers time has made too loose to hug my feet and took pictures with a camera that punished me for forgetting to charge its dying battery by refusing to focus. even blurred, she was stunning. she sank down a little lower when she saw me. she stayed like that for a while. she let me take a few tentative steps toward her. then she took off. there wasn't any panic in her flight. she almost seemed to glide. she stopped in front of the part of the fence that latches and opens. she showed me how she gets out. she dipped her head below the swinging gate and eased herself into a space that didn't look anywhere near large enough to accommodate her. she made the impossible look effortless. i followed her, knowing she wouldn't be there when i got to the other side of the barrier made of pine. there was a tiny trench in the dirt. an improvised crawlspace made by her mother. it led to an alley carpeted with sod. a long green line separated our den and all the brick fortresses on either side of it from the houses behind us. i noticed a scattering of pine cones and clumps of grass so dry and brown they could have passed for hay. fifteen years i've lived in this house. i've never known any of this was here. one of her favourite spots is just to the right of the house across the street from ours. the hedges offer a generous amount of cover. a tall tree casts a long shadow, giving respite from the heat. saturday she sat there and watched two robins search for worms. "you're just like me," she thought. "only you do most of your running in the sky." the night before last, she stood awash in wonder, girded by the blinking bodies of fireflies. i would have given both my feet and most of my teeth to have a picture of the only fourth of july fireworks display that really mattered. but i kept my distance. that moment belonged to her. 220706 what's it to you? who go blather from