A week ago today, I went walking in the park with Lizzette, my most frequent walking companion aside from Jesus.
|We didn't look this good on that evening.|
We got off to a very late start, so it was quite dark on our way back. Thus my usual wonder at the fireflies' magical pinpricks of golden light was tempered by fear of catching the Zika virus from the mosquitoes who also inhabit the thickly wooded creek bank.
Deep in conversation, we'd nearly made it back to the main road when we both stopped short, arrested by a plaintive cry.
"What was..." Lizzette began.
"Is it a..." I started to say "baby," but then we heard it again.