The pitch-black outdoors are filled with glittering fireflies, sometimes dancing in the fields in groups and sometimes flying alone to the side of the road where children play. Gently grabbing one and placing it in the palm of my hand, I can't remember how many years I haven't seen it, it's still a familiar look in my heart. The six-year-old chick saw the glowing bugs, was very curious, and pulled the little sister to run to catch the flying bugs. "This one." "That one". The children's cheerful cries shouted out similar scenes in their hearts. The age when you used to scream with joy because you caught a firefly is long gone, because life in a chicken feather makes you have to carry the weight forward...
