“Purple at the top and then orange at the bottom,” she says of the sunset.
The orange takes over. It makes me think of Thanksgiving, I tell her.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she replies. “It reminds me of fall.”
I tell her since Thanksgiving is in the fall, we’re kind of talking about the same thing.
“Daddy,” she whines with a sigh, “that’s the only thing I could think of.”
A couple of seconds pass.
“When does Halloween happen?”
I tell her.
Another couple of seconds pass.
“Poppa taught me how to make toast and eggs. We should have toast and eggs in the morning instead of grits.
“Hey! A firefly!”
My soon-to-be-7-year-old masterpiece hops out of the swing after the thing as I watch. She catches the winged godsend and cups her hands around it, holding the creature as if all things were right where they ought to be.
“Look,” she says excitedly, bearing a grin.
She cracks the shell her delicate hands created for the firefly. I peer inside, hoping to be as excited as my daughter.
“I don’t see anything,” I say.
She opens her hands completely. The bug flies out. Kalista smiles.