The Magic of the Fireflies

We called them lightening bugs when I was a child.  That name evokes visions of streaks of light, thunder and stormy weather.  It also brings back a lot of good, simple memories.

I remember running around our backyard chasing lightening bugs when I was growing up in Florida.  My brother, sister and I would see who could catch the most.  We put them in jars and watched them glow and shook them to see the light streaks in the dark, like sparklers on the Fourth of July.  I always let mine loose quickly, afraid they would expire in their cramped quarters.

Sometime between childhood and this baby boomer age I have grown into, I started calling them fireflies.  I don't know why or if maybe it is a regional thing, but now they have come to mean the start of summer and the illumination of the garden and the tall pine trees that surround it.  It is a magical time in late May and into June, over before July 4.

Tonight was the first night I saw them, brightening the pine trees with their signal lights, calling silently  to their potential mates.  Summer  has begun and nights on the deck will be full of magic for weeks to come.

I'll want to linger over dinner on the deck, waiting until the dark sets in, signaled by the first bat sighting in the open spaces between the treetops.  Soon after the darkness falls, the tiny sparklers begin their show, gyrating among the trees, venturing out into the open spaces to light up the garden, the pond and the still-green grass.  The bats begin their hunting and the fireflies dodge them, intent on their own solicitations of the night.

There is something magical about the dancing lights that makes me think of a Tinkerbell convention or tiny little spaceships observing the activities of the earthings.  Occasionally when several are in close proximity, their light is bright enough to illuminate a spot in the trees or, when they come close, brighten the spot where I am.  I imagine a walk through the woods in the night, fireflies  lighting my path to a clearing where all the animals are having a hoe-down and dancing and communicating between species, illuminated by the magic of the fireflies.

I remember a special night when Mother was visiting some years ago and we sat on the lower deck, feet propped up on a bench, and watching the fireflies.  It was so peaceful and we enjoyed just sitting, lost in our own thoughts and taking in the beauty before us.

Eventually there will be thousands of them in my garden and the tiny little rockets with their afterglow will carouse through the night.  Intent on their personal missions, the fireflies are ignorant of the spectacle they make for those other than their own kind and we have the option of sitting back for a spell, using them as our excuse for slowing down and enjoying the simple things.

Tomorrow night cannot come too soon.   I plan to watch the show.  Tonight I might just wake up and go to the window for a spell.