“You know how long Granny Lily lived,” Nick said.
Thea nodded. Her headstone clearly indicated she had been well over one hundred when she died.
“Towards the end of her life, she wrote out a series of predictions. We think she might have had a bit of precognition along with her healing gift.” Nick handed Thea the papers. “She focuses on the environment as you can see.”
It was a color copy of a page yellowed with age, with faded writing that looked like a poem written in calligraphy. The second page was a printed version of the same thing.
Except for the frogs and crickets singing beyond the porch light, everyone was silent as Thea read.
The first part of the verse was a poetic retelling the firefly story. It had been told and retold ages ago and recorded here by Granny Lily. And her s
