Old age as it creeps up is like that coming of nightfall, lurking in far corners as it gathers, advancing relentlessly whether you heed it or not. Things get lost in those shadows: names, dates, memories.
Like fireflies, there are glimmerings of wisdom accumulated over years, making the darkness seemingly friendly as it gathers. The evening chants of children in front of domestic shrines are soothing accompaniment to the end of the day.
I can live with the dark because there are fireflies.