She sits on the veranda as daylight fades. A lizard on the wall keeps her company. In the city, the nightly sound of gunshot punctuates sleep, but here, crickets and the occasional tree frog are singing. From the house behind her, the soft glow of oil lamps, the sound of distant, muffled conversations. This is a house that grows as each generation adds a new bedroom, bathroom, sitting room, child. But tomorrow, she must return to the city. She looks out across the land scattered with trees – yam, mango, plantain, breadfruit. Slowly darkness claims the countryside.
A blink of light. Then another. And another. Fireflies flit, zip, dash, dart, hover, transforming the night into a luminous landscape. A nocturnal light show. She watches this magical courtship of improvised dance, chance synchronicity, the language of light singing silent love songs.
And inside her there is a light – a new light. A shimmer, a quiet glimmer that will grow, shine brighter, find form. Her own silent love song. A parting gift from this house.
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