Comment on this article

By Sara Wadington

The day had been terribly hot. My dog Harry took refuge in the tub filled with cold water for most of the day, only to get out once in a while to run around the house with me chasing after him with a towel, yelling; “Wait!! Let me dry you off! Not on the bed!! No!!!”

I sat there in front of the fan waiting for the sun to go down bringing with it the cooler evening air. At dusk we headed out into the yard. It was wonderfully cooler, and the stars were just coming out -- a perfect summer evening. Suddenly I noticed the fireflies for the first time this season.

They had come out in full force. They were all over the place, more than I had seen in years. I stared out across the yard, mesmerized by the blinking lights flying all around. I suddenly remembered years ago as a child the same feeling I had now. I allowed myself to believe in the magic that seemed so real back then. Hanging out with my first best friend Richy, in the cool of the evening watching the fireflies and making up stories about them. We used to catch some to put into jars. We would put holes in the lids so they could get air, and then would bring them into our rooms to watch at night as we fell asleep.

We would also love to taunt the thunderstorms from the safety of my garage. If it was just a little lightening strike, we would yell, “Come on, you can do better than that, what kind of wimpy little storm are you?” Until the big strike, which would be first followed by screams, and then cheers of “There you go! That’s more like it!”

He used to be little Richy; I was a year older and a lot taller. But we had so much fun together. I was a tomboy at the time, my hair was very short and I was often mistaken for a boy. Which was cool with me. I liked riding bikes, and playing baseball. Being a little boy was so much more fun. Dolls were not my thing at all. I hated sitting inside on a lovely summer day playing house with the girls. I liked to play Star Trek. Richy was the captain, and I was Spock, and the apple tree was the Enterprise. Various other neighborhood kids would join in, and in our collective imaginations we had some wondrous adventures.

Well, as we grew up we grew apart, he went to the right, and I went to the left. But a few years ago, some twenty-five years later, I ran into little Richy in the grocery store. He was about a foot taller than me, and ever so handsome. I was standing there in shock as I looked up at him! We talked for a little bit, he told me he was a lawyer now, and married. “Very good for you”, I said.

So here I sit, in my yard, watching my dog watching the fireflies. He caught one just once, and shook his head in disgust. He’s never gone after them since because they must taste real bad. I know what makes them flash now. My husband, also a Richard, (funny, I‘m even a bit taller than him) is my best friend now. He explained to me how fireflies light up, but it’s all so technical. I prefer to think it's magic as I watch them twinkle in the twilight of an enchanted summer evening.


Return to

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]