Going Home… Where Fireflies Light the Summer Nights

Summer nights. All the farm machinery idle, tractors and trucks in the shed. Silence filtering in with nothing to anchor it but a soft breeze. Interrupted now and then by locusts… the sound of crickets. Now the neighbor’s dog barking, distant, probably at a raccoon stealing sweet corn.

The time before we had an indoor bathroom… a galvanized metal tub sitting in the yard. Laughter. My brother Norman’s laughter, when he scooped up a double handful of bathwater from the tub and aimed it at me… at me! fresh and clean and newly dried, in my underpants and shirt. Laughter, Norman’s laughter as he ran around the yard with all his strength to get away from me. Scrawny kid! I loved him with a love so big it made me run faster.

Cool evening air, brushing past my arms and face, making the tiny hairs on my skin stand up straight. Evening air sweet with the smell of growing things and rich black earth, velvety grass. Velvety grass between my toes. Night wrapping us in its soft black veil, interrupted only by stars and the fireflies. There’s nothing like an evening of chasing “lightning bugs.” Magical insects with their yellow-green lights flying away before we could catch them, flirting with us… and then we would catch them… and pinch off their backsides while the light still glowed, and the sticky stuff from inside them made the glowing part cling to my finger like a diamond ring.

I’m going home.