Wonder Days

What I meant is that when the child shook the branch,the beetles, quiet, somnolent, darkly, fell and again felllike plums. Once woken, they bzzzed towardsthe street lamps, loving each light well, thwackingagainst them until they landed face down or faceup, trying to find their feet, reminding me of Eve's faceas a baby when she tried to lift her head on her stemof a neck before yet she could. Upon the child's shoulders,beetles landed, kinging him. The dusk's gray muteunfolded its scrolls, while his mother made toastwith boysenberry jam, his father played solitaire,and think of his sister doing her biology homework.But they are under the tree, he is, the bright ones fallingupon him like stars, and as they fall, he names them:some doctors, some cooks, depending on the sizeof their antennae. His face was a diary of leaves: dark,lit, risen with laughter, then suddenly at rest. Thiswas one way to be inside the world rather than outsidelooking into a bright window.