On warm summer nights, I lay in bed beneath my cool sheets, next to warm husband and a snoring pug, and I wait for the appearance of the fireflies. My bay window comes to life with their lights as the fireflies appear first one, then another, then several. They arrive just a few feet from where my head rests on my pillow and I end my day enchanted by their light and presence.
I’ve always been delighted by fireflies. When I was a child, I’d sit impatiently on the wooden swing in our yard, my gaze fixed on the nearby woods, waiting for the charming creatures to flicker and enchant me with their warm glow. I was (and still am) captivated by these “bugs” who were lights. I had an ardent affection for fireflies that were to me, magical…
