The Last Fireflies of Summer, Letter from Magnolia Isle

Last Fireflies of Summer

Dear Friend,

I’m sitting today in the thick, sticky heat of August. School has started back today for the local kids, so the park is virtually empty. There is a subtle breeze that pulls the Spanish Moss softly through the muggy air. It still feels like summer, yet there is a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

The start of school reminds me that fall is just around the corner, and with it the last fireflies of summer will bid us goodbye, storms will roll in, and we’ll see the pale gray clouds float over us with a little more regularity.

Yet, I hold on to the image of the fireflies. They aren’t as common as they once were, not at our county sprays for mosquitoes, which means that I've had to seek out sanctuaries on which I could view them. It’s become a game each spring and summer for me to find their new stomping ground. Since viewing them isn’t as easy as stepping into my yard, I make it an event.

I grab my favorite basket, pack it full with a blanket, some light snacks, and a battery-operated flickering candle. I’m sure to wear linen pants and long sleeves despite the heat, so the no-see-ums don’t get extra plump off me. Then I get on my bike and ride to the spot I’ve discovered for the season. I lay the blanket, set my evening picnic, and wait. I listen to the stillness; sometimes I write, but mostly, I let the beauty surround me and stay fully present in the experience.

Sometimes others join me. Some approach on soft feet preferring to slip in as I have, quietly so as to cause as little disturbance to nature as possible. Other times, parents will come with their excited children who giggle and run uninhibited through the habitat around them. Their bare feet pressing the grass down, their tiny hands clasping dandelions and presenting them to their family. Some of the more creative moms bring small art projects for the kids to do while we all wait for that beautiful moment in dusk when the fireflies will show themselves.

Regardless of the happenings around me, I sit still. I remain present. Always, my stillness is rewarded as the light wanes. The fireflies emerge. They swirl and dance before me. Immediately, I am transported back to my childhood. Just as some of the young ones do now, I’d run through the field with my palms open trying desperately to capture one before my friends. I can still remember how they would feel, their tiny feet tickling the inside of my hand as I held them close for the briefest of moments before I’d open my hand and let them fly away.

I think that’s the gift the fireflies keep giving me, year after year — the reminder that some of the best things were never meant to be kept. Summer is already loosening its grip here on the island. The light is changing by degrees you’d hardly notice unless you were paying attention, and soon something else will take its place.

Maybe that’s the real lesson tucked inside all that glowing green light: hold what’s given to you gently, stay present while it lasts, and let it go without needing it to stay forever. The fireflies don’t belong to any of us. They simply visit, and we’re fortunate enough to be there to see them.

What in your life right now is asking to be held a little more loosely — savored fully, then released with gratitude instead of grief?

Until next time,

—A Friend from Magnolia Isle