When I was a kid the summer evenings were always full of those little bugs with yellow flashing lanterns. In my day, we called them lightening bugs, some called them fireflies, but by whatever name they were bright little wisps of great entertainment. We chased and captured the little buggers in jars. Some kids squashed and spread their florescence on their hands or faces. It was all great fun groping in the early darkness to catch lightening bugs. Their night companion biting mosquitoes and no seeums were ignored until the itching began later.
Tonight, sixty plus years beyond those childhood times, I sat on my screened patio listening and watching as the night steadily approached. Crickets began chirping, a hooty owl gave it's last calls, and in the distance rumbles and blue white flashes signaled the approach of cooler weather. In the quiet and peace I dozed. When I awoke from my nap, a bright yellow light flickered near the screen. It was the first lightening bug of the season and it brought back a lot of good memories. Laughing and running with cousins, sister, and friends pursuing the elusive flickers of light.
But, it also reminded me of the declining population of the insect and the realization that their light flash is a mating signal. Knowing the little creatures only live a week or two was sobering and a bit sad when I watched this firefly flash it's light as it drifted into the woods without any responses. While the drama of the bug didn't approach the unrequited love Edgar Allan Poe suffered over his beloved and cousin Virginia Clemm, there is tragedy in the plight of this lone firefly unable to find a mate. While I lingered on this thought I nodded off, again.
With a nearby crack of thunder I awoke still thinking of the lightening bug using its limited illuminating energy and not finding a companion. It seemed an unhappy fate. As random cooler breezes of wind enlivened a nearby chime, and a few fat raindrops crashed through the oaks, I decided to survey the yard and adjoining forest. I wanted to see if my first lightening bug of the season was still on patrol and if it had found another blinking companion.
For minutes I peered into the full darkness and could find no lightening bug flashes. As I was preparing to quit the patio something told me to look one more time. As the sparse rain drops ended, I spotted a faint yellow flash just above the grass, then another and then another. In a small way it was a joyful moment. Realizing the descendants of ancestor fireflies from my childhood were still lighting the night with their specialness. It created a nice moment.
Tonight, sixty plus years beyond those childhood times, I sat on my screened patio listening and watching as the night steadily approached. Crickets began chirping, a hooty owl gave it's last calls, and in the distance rumbles and blue white flashes signaled the approach of cooler weather. In the quiet and peace I dozed. When I awoke from my nap, a bright yellow light flickered near the screen. It was the first lightening bug of the season and it brought back a lot of good memories. Laughing and running with cousins, sister, and friends pursuing the elusive flickers of light.
But, it also reminded me of the declining population of the insect and the realization that their light flash is a mating signal. Knowing the little creatures only live a week or two was sobering and a bit sad when I watched this firefly flash it's light as it drifted into the woods without any responses. While the drama of the bug didn't approach the unrequited love Edgar Allan Poe suffered over his beloved and cousin Virginia Clemm, there is tragedy in the plight of this lone firefly unable to find a mate. While I lingered on this thought I nodded off, again.
With a nearby crack of thunder I awoke still thinking of the lightening bug using its limited illuminating energy and not finding a companion. It seemed an unhappy fate. As random cooler breezes of wind enlivened a nearby chime, and a few fat raindrops crashed through the oaks, I decided to survey the yard and adjoining forest. I wanted to see if my first lightening bug of the season was still on patrol and if it had found another blinking companion.
For minutes I peered into the full darkness and could find no lightening bug flashes. As I was preparing to quit the patio something told me to look one more time. As the sparse rain drops ended, I spotted a faint yellow flash just above the grass, then another and then another. In a small way it was a joyful moment. Realizing the descendants of ancestor fireflies from my childhood were still lighting the night with their specialness. It created a nice moment.
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