Fireflies spread out timidly to the summer afternoon. In the warm lazy nights, glimmers of light begin to sparkle, drifting down city streets, suburban backyards, and country meadows. The fireflies are out. Blinking “I’m here, I’m ready, I’m here, I’m ready,” waiting to live before they soon die when fall shades from the east.
Fireflies have a brief period of time to enjoy their tiny yet amazing existence. They have filled the soft summer breeze with vivid moments of light and as they have lived so have I.
I have loved and toast and laugh.
I have travelled across bosomy mountains.
I have drunk from secret springs.
I have burnt in harmless fires.
I have howled to the full moon.
I have disappeared under a blackened sky.
Summer was the time to live.