Sylvan Cheney stroked her hair, the doting tenderness in his eyes as gentle as willow branches in March, brushing away the chill of winter.
"Spring is here. When the flowers bloom a little more, I'll take you out for a walk." Sylvan held her close. "And when summer comes, I'll take you to see fireflies, hmm?"
He knew she loved watching fireflies.
In her childhood, the environment was pristine. Every summer night she would open the window, and outside, fireflies danced—bright and sparkling like stars in the sky.
Later, as the environment deteriorated, although the Cheney Residence still had decent surroundings, the number of fireflies gradually dwindled.
She dearly loved summer.
During those summers, after she finished her homework, she would sit by the window in her bedroom, resting her chin on her hand as she gazed outside.
Outside, insects flew, clouds drifted, and the world was full of ease and comfort.
