ジェシカ・シーバさんのインスタグラム写真 - (ジェシカ・シーバInstagram)「There’s a memory that keeps creeping into my consciousness lately. I’ll be doing dishes, or driving, or washing my face and a flash of fireflies in a mason jar will creep into an otherwise productive moment of schedule planning. My little sister and I used to spend a few weeks in Ohio every summer. We’d pack pink nail polish, markers, and our blankies into backpacks and board the plane with lanyards around our necks, just the two of us. The custody arrangement collected and lumped together our time with each parent like vacation days in an employment contract. No matter what, we’d spend the year in California and cram all the birthdays and holidays into the childhood home we left in that little town on the outskirts of Akron. Almost every night during those summers, we’d grab a cold popsicle and head out to wait for the fireflies. Unless it was raining, those fireflies were always there to whisper reassuringly, that some things will always be constant. Life feels especially complicated lately. Big decisions are looming, hung on the walls and in the air around us while we’ve been stuck at home since March. The certainties we usually nestle into are baron. My kids have never collected fireflies before. There’s something about waiting in the darkness of the damp air and watching for the flicker of light. I am desperate to give them, and myself, that promise of a glow in a mason jar, even though it means lifting the lid and releasing it back into the wild.」7月20日 21時23分