The Firefly Fleet

A flickering light...

A humble candle against the night sky,

travels in a pattern all its own—burning bright,

carried weightlessly... on a soft breeze whispering by.

Like a tapestry of stars,

emerges thousands of blinking fireflies—

fiery embers, rising from the tall grasses...

and the cold, silent ground.

Don’t look away.

Don’t avert your eyes.

Don’t let their brilliance slip

into the dark background.

They are sailors… on a moonlit sea.

Their wings, the sails.

Their buzzing... a shanty of hope.

Not an armada...

but a fleet—

happy and free.

Tiny lanterns...

like lighthouses,

gracing each slope.

Not every bug braves the open air.

Some are content—

drifting along a rotting log,

or traversing the foliage of a tree.

There are some... on patrol.

Some—cautious. Even scared.

Darting in and out of the underbrush.

Guarded… but never absentee.

Their wings...

could carry them for miles.

But most favor the comfort and quiet

of a single, lush meadow.

Sailing o’er the peaceful tree-line and brooks,

there is laughter… and smiles—

as the fireflies chatter and flit about,

nary a woe.

As certain as the fox is sly,

as sure as the snail is slow,

as undeniable as the deer is shy—

every creature, large or small, knows:

In the damp summer heat,

when dusk lasts forever...

shines the magnificent firefly fleet—

brighter than ever.