Lifespan of a Mayfly by Kate Sorbara

My granddaughter, whose name is Freedom, a name
I balked at for my first grandchild but now love,
and predicted that she would not like it but she loves it too.
Anyway, it was this granddaughter, working at becoming a doctor,
who last night opened the porch door off our bedroom
and let in millions of mayflies and their friends
the moths and little black beetles. They flooded into the room,
crowded around the lamps, the white walls, the big glass windows,
the bed, our pillows. It was just before bedtime. I was grateful
that the throng was too dense for the mosquitoes. None of the creatures
were bloodsuckers. So we fell asleep amongst their soft delicate wings.

— from Juniper Volume 6, Issue 1