The Power of Fireflies

These mystic bugs light up with no power outside themselves, except that a higher power made them that way.

I see them in the morning. Sleeping in the grass or the bushes. This morning in a hanging plant. They are seen during the day, but they don't shine. Their time is the night.

I wrote Fireflies, but I mostly call them lightning bugs. They are beetles, classified as Lampyridae, in the family Coleoptera. Who would have thought there are estimated to be two thousand plus species? On all continents, except Antarctica. 120 species in North America, alone. I need to travel more. And many more species scientists are studying. And I could read you the study this morning, but I recommend you look it up. It is all fascinating.

Evening approaches. The evenings with the wonder of these insects starts around June seventh. I try to capture them on my phone camera. They quickly flash from their bums quietly. No warning. They surround themselves with stealth. The sun escapes and they emerge from the ground, it seems. Their small wings move so fast, they appear to float. I wonder how much effort goes into that.

I sit in my chair minding my own business. I sense something by my face or my thigh. A lightning bug hovers for a few seconds. As a child, they were very easy to catch. I feel badly now at how we "played" with them. Put them in a jar to light up our evening. Killing them for the glow that continued for a time. Wearing the smashed guts as jewelry, very expensive jewelry. My daughters were appalled that we did any of that. PETA hadn't made their impact, yet, in our childhood.

I stare at the creature, probably it's sensing my heat or my scent. Those wings are indiscernible. The body seems perfectly still. And quiet, they are so quiet. I can see how they could be models for stories of fairies. If they aren't, I'm not sure what is. The bug stands upright as it flies in place, reminding me of Tinkerbell.

All of a sudden, with no warning it almost floats up to the sky or dive bombs lower. Is it looking for a mate? Research says that is so. Knowing the animal kingdom, producing youngsters is high priority. I would think right after getting something to eat for energy to propagate. Dinner and a date. Maybe not together.

We always wonder at the ease with which these beetles can be caught why don't more birds eat them? They don't smell very good to me. This year with an increase in population, I have not noticed their tell tale smell. We assumed, my husband and I, that they must taste horrible, even for a bird or bat.

An army seems to rise out of the ground. A noiseless army. They appear just before the mosquitoes come out. I enjoy the show for a few minutes, unless I throw on some citronella oil. I'm even getting used to the smell of that, feeling it is worth it to not be bitten. I am amazed as they fly to the highest tree with no effort or speed. They float, although, as I observed those wings flap at great speed, almost like a humming bird. Or a bumble bee. But soundlessly.

The ancient Celts sitting around a fire and I can see them making tales of these insects. The fairies and elves of legends old. Did their children tear them apart to make jewelry? Or was a tale made up to discourage damage to a creature smaller than they, but may have more powers because they illuminate themselves?

In Gaelic, "Aw, ye better not be torturing the fairy, now, Donaidh. Ye may have a spell cast on ye."

"Yea, what kind of spell?" the rebellious boy asks.

"Oh, ye may be drawn to the river, ye know? and there ye may be smashed against the rocks. Yea, they may be wee, but they have a power to repay evil for evil, I tell ye. Best ye leave them alone."

Another sage adds, "A first warning can be welts all over ye body. I saw such same happen to a bairn like ye when I was no taller than ye."

The boy lets the bug go and watches it hover by his eye. He hides his fear, but he secretly asks, "Don't be harming me. I let ye go." He bows to the bug, who may be a fairy with more power than he. He doesn't realize, the men around the fire, with their words of suggestion, possess the power.

This, of course, is before St. Patrick or St. Columba came to the isles and teach the way of Christ. And this story is totally my imagination, as I think on an evening of ancestors of story tellers. Interesting, words have power, despite the childhood rhyme, and Jesus is the Word, the Logos, who spoke all this into existence.

How that was done, I'll leave to scholars, but if any say with certainty the process, I think of the Todd Agnew song with the inspiration from the last chapters of Job - Where were you, when I formed the earth? Maybe not the exact words from the song, or the text, but you get the gist. God is asking Job and his friends the question of where did they get their insights? We may imagine the past, but it is a land we can never return. I am intrigued by generations and what is passed down through the years. I always think, I knew my great uncle born in 1880 and my grandmother in 1898 and many more. There sayings and stories live with us. My oldest daughter, loved to crawl up on her grandmother's lap and ask for a story about the Depression. And that, my friends, is coming up on a hundred years ago.

We carry on. Writing fiction based on my family, I retrieve those stories, sayings and mannerisms. I look at those living and think, what is passed down? Who thought watching fireflies would bring on this?