to look at the moonless black night being pierced by fireflies, or lightning bugs, depending on where you live. I can feel my small hand in my dad's big hand, mesmerized by this show...there is some profound lyric lesson in witnessing an unfathomably beautiful event in the dark night...
--Ross Gay "Fireflies"
Upon reading this essay, memories flooded and I had to write the following:
"You have to wait until your father's birthday,"
my mother would tell us when
our summer started as school ended,
early June too soon for the seductive charm
of the lampyrideae noctiluca
so we waited until we could chase
down those lightning bugs when
the sun set and they would
mysteriously appear from
who-knows-where
lifting up into the darkening yard,
the JIF jar at the ready
the "hole-y" lid prepped ahead
so we could bottle their magic
feed them some grass, and then
toss them out in the morning.
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