A field of dried grass

I remember a Chinese proverb:

Dried grass yields fireflies

I always think that it must be a summer night, when the sky is deeply dark, like velvet, like rose, like dry wind which passes through the grassland. Such a scene, just in my mind!

And in the last days in his life, Basho had a poem like that:

falling sick on a journey
my dream goes wandering
over a field of dried grass

Then here is a blog about the journey of a firefly :)

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