I saw the first firefly of the season tonight. Sitting in the front room looking out to the backyard...I saw that distinct flash. Then another. TWO fireflies. It's like gold. Summer gold.
Fireflies have always made me nervous over the years (I imagine after all of those 'indicator species' lectures?). Mostly because I've lived long enough to watch their numbers dwindle, populations decrease to the point where I believe in my lifetime I will witness their extinction.
In fact, in the time that it took me to grab my journal and pen, Oscar killed one of my summer wonders. Now the poor thing is reduced to a pale flickering of the light it used to be.
I worry that Beau won't know what they are by the time she's my age. That she will never cruelly collect fireflies in mason jars to light her path to the ice cream store.
I fear for the June that fireflies don't return. Just another light extinguished by an overbearing world, ruled by stronger Oscar-the-Grouch like powers.
In the same moment that I see the familiar flash, I'm reminded of my own light. Of similar feelings when I witness a truly unique flash of strength, self love and personal knowing.
The same flash of light lives in me and is above and beyond extinction. As long as my flash, so to speak, lives, the firefly will always be with us. As is the summer breeze, my love for my family and my hope for a better future. Always burning, even if its only outwardly visible seasonally.
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