|Mickey and the firefly|
No, not the Julia Roberts+Ryan Reynolds = drama type.
The actual bug type, with wings but without Hollywood airs.
Yeah, really, we have the fireflies. We saw them for the first time one evening in early June, as we were walking home from the library. They were dancing around, in mid-air, above freshly cut lawns. Two kids were chasing the bugs around, trying to catch them in their fists. The city slicker in me (as Trevor lies to mock me) didn't remember ever having seen fireflies. We have a word for them in my native language, so they must exist. But I doubt they thrive in the noisy, polluted, light-intense city.
There weren't any fireflies in our yard, so the following night we caught some and transplanted them there, hoping that the critters would appreciate the prime grass real estate we have going on.
Two evenings later, armed with a glass of wine and a cheerful disposition, we went out on the deck to admire our newly lit yard. The fireflies were all over the place, so "our grass is greener" approach must have fooled them and lured them.
But as the days went by, fireflies were no longer a novelty so we paid less and less attention to them. Meanwhile, they did get rude and pushy as they would hover around with their butts all lit up. I mean, who does that?! Except JLo maybe.
(Sidenote: How come Lady Gaga did not think to dress up as a firefly yet? That would make for an awesome outfit. A glowing derriere is always a winner.)
It's mid-summer now and these bugs aren't nearly as exciting as they were a month ago. I tried to catch a firefly in a Mason jar, but it refused to fly around (like they do in the movies). So I named it Burt and let it go on its sweet way.
I'll never forget you, Burt!!!
Fireflies will always remind me of my first summer in Pennsylvania.