I can't remember when I last saw a firefly flit across a dusky sky. Perhaps they are still around charming country children, but those tiny, luminous critters seem to have disappeared for city dwellers. Did pollution cause them to die off? Perhaps pesticides in our gardens drove them away. Whatever the reason, most children today are denied the joy of catching fireflies.
As a child, I loved the warm summer evenings when twilight was reluctant to let the dark enfold the night. The last glow of sunset turned the garden into a veritable fairyland. Hundreds of flickering lights darted from flower to flower. With mason jar tightly clutched in my hand, I would stalk those little pinpoints of light as skillfully as any safari hunter.
Being careful not to hurt them, I would swoop the tiny critters into the jar that had holes punched on top. I couldn't risk suffocating those amazing little creatures. I'd sit on the back steps watching their amazing glow. Sometimes I would carry them up to my bedroom, turn off the lights, and pretend they were fairies come to visit. I had a wild imagination as a child. I was sure one firefly was a tiny fairy who had brought me her gift of light. At the end of the evening's visit, I made sure my little friends were put back into the garden. There would always be another evening.
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