There is a brief window of firefly season here in Northern Virginia. I didn't see any at all when I moved here last August and I was so disappointed--I grew up in the West without the magic of fireflies. I remember the first time I saw them when I visited my grandparents one summer in Atlanta and then years later in Missouri. And I loved them in Central Park on summer evening walks in New York. Apparently the show up here in the early summer, and I love them.
There is something remarkable about the haphazard flashes of light--unexpected and unpreservable. They are so temporary that their light produces a little burst of excitement and wonder. I feel like a little kid again, staring into the air, hoping and being so pleasantly surprised to see fireflies pop back and forth in the dusk. I want to bottle them up so I can draw upon their light later on, but I know it's to no avail. The firefly reminds me to live in the moment.