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Catching Fireflies On A Hot Summer Night

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Think about the relationships we’ve formed as children. When we’ve played together for hours. Summer, with splashing hose water on each other, playing kickball and playing with dirt. Catching fireflies on a hot summer night.

We’d have balloon fights in our old neighborhood in the summers. We’d fill up our balloons with water and throw them at each other. The balloons would break, spilling water all over. We also had berry fights, our shirts filling up with red stains that just wouldn’t come out in the wash. We thought as children that our friends would be there forever. Somehow the sense of time is slower, and even the summers inbetween the school years were drawn out. The times we would watch scores of fireflies lighting up the night grass. Trying to catch some of them, trapping them under a jar and then letting them go. Catching fireflies was something we loved to do in the summers. Between hearing the crickets and fireflies at night, there was something comforting about it.

If you could think of a metaphor for how we define our relationships, what would it be? I would think of the fireflies we’d watch, flitting around, sparks flying in the freshly cut night grass. Watching them around us, admiring them, mesmerized by them. Trying to catch them. Trapping them under glass. Then releasing them so they wouldn’t die. And feeling sad when not seeing the sparks of their light anymore. Knowing how fleeting they are, yet how beautiful. Knowing they don’t last forever.

Isn’t it ironic that the most beautiful memories in our lives can also be the most fleeting?

All writings © TravelingThrill

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