fireflies are magic

His earnestness and childish enthusiasm caught me a little off guard. He was a child, but one of those children who act, generally, a little too old for their age, maybe a little too cynical. I suppose he came by it honestly enough.

But tonight, when I found him trotting around the kitchen just before bedtime, he immediately enjoined, "I caught six lightning bugs!"

"Oh, yeah?" I said, looking around vaguely for a jar. "Where are they?"

"I let them go in here!" he said happily.

Like the irresponsible non-parent I persist in being, I found this only momentarily unsettling. "What?" I said.

And in a more inquisitive tone, he replied in kind: "What?"

"That's just not exactly standard procedure," I said, following an instant's thoughtful pause.


After this, my mind opened easily to the idea's goodness: a gentle, flickering glow enveloping the indoors, as dozens of little bug-lights made our home their own. I accepted the thought, and moved on with whatever I was doing.

He told me the fireflies' names. Bob, Bill, Joe, Dum, Dee ... something like that.

"I hope they make friends with the flies," he said.

"Maybe they'll tell the flies to get lost," I said. Too many of the world's mini-demons had presumed upon our hospitality already, and charity was running low.

"What do fireflies eat?" he asked. I should have been prepared for this, but I wasn't.

"Umm, I'm not sure," I said. "Grass, maybe?" (Until further study of any given species proves otherwise, it is my position that most, if not all, varieties of bug can be presumed to eat grass.)

"Oh, ok!" he said, so trustingly. Already he was on his way to the door.

I called after him, "But if they eat grass, I'm sure they could eat house plants, too." (It might be a good thing Mom didn't hear that.)

"That's ok, I'll get some grass," he yelled, and the door slammed.

Later, I heard Mom explaining to the same child that bugs, even lightning bugs, don't belong in the house, and that he should go try to find them and let them go outside. Oops. Bad Big Sister Alert.

But he took it cheerfully, and came back upstairs somewhat later to announce that he'd only been able to release one bug outside. "Actually, I found more," he said, "but three of them were on the ceiling." Mom jokingly wished them all a comfortable nest in his hair overnight, and the bedtime rituals proceeded as usual.

I took a shower. I went downstairs and poured myself a quiet glass of milk in the mostly-dark kitchen. (Classic, no?) And on the corner of the countertop, all alone, were three little criss-crossed blades of grass. A midnight snack, waiting sweetly.

And when I went to put away the milk, there one of them was, right at eye level - one little lightning bug hiding behind the magnetic pen-holder-cup. I didn't tell anyone.

Fireflies are magic, I tell you. They are.