“When I became a man, I did away with childish things.” Better Pull Out the Firefly.

Though not a man, I evolved into an adult and put away many childish things. Too many. Thank God for the wonder of summer expanding the mature mind, breaking it free from deadlines, bills and daily angst over creative ways to cook ground beef other than forming it into a patty.

Just steal outside in the early evening as twilight descends. A light here, a light there. It’s Tinkerbell herself coming to visit. Leaping up you run — maybe only in your mind – barefoot through the y“ard chasing the magic that is the firefly.

Though thousands of specifies are found the world over, in the United States not many are seen further west than Kansas. It’s like the wee winged beetles got to the Jayhawk state and after getting blown to bits by stiff winds and seeing nothing but fields of “corn that’s as high as an elephant’s eye” (Okay, that’s Oklahoma, but to a firefly and most of the free world, what’s the difference?) they turned around to settle in the fertile, humid East.

If I grew up in Morgan County, I might be like a fellow living next door to the most beautiful girl. He’s known no different since he was happy to sit around in a messy diaper. Sure she is pretty, funny and sweet but darn – she always hanging around. Nothing special. Then one day a new guy moves in on the other side. When he takes a look at the girl next door, it’s fireworks. He realizes how extra-special she is never having grown used to her quiet radiance.

What’s not to love in this bug? They don’t bite or at least I have never felt the slightest nibble. They don’t sting. They bob along at the most perfect pace for a doddering child or adult… just beyond reach, but with perseverance and a well-timed leap you can snag even the cagiest one.

Not like a flitting, fragile butterfly. If you manage to catch a swallowtail, you must pin its wings back to hold it. Then poor butterfly just stares at you, its little legs struggling all pathetic. Suddenly fearful, you release it immediately. Then you’re stuck with butterfly dust covering your fingertips triggering all sorts of guilt that your selfishness so mangled this least-of-these-creatures it will forever fly in circles to the left. Wonderfully hardy souls, fireflies stay in your grasp all night..with the occasional heartbeat flicker. Perfect.

Sometimes its good and right to be a little childish. To stand again in your grandmother’s garden at twilight and watch the firelights appear out of nothingness. Light…then darkness…light…then darkness. Time hanging motionless — so heavy, yet so light. Then with staggering swiftness of a quiet breath, the magic and childish things are gone.