fireflies

the lightning bugs are out tonight, illuminating the lawn with their bright, flashing bodies, as if in a choreographed dance.  whenever i see them, i am reminded of summer.  i think of my childhood when we'd chase them in the front yard, arms outstretched, watching them flicker around us.

i have a vague memory of my cousin catching one once, then holding it securely between his thumb and index finger.  my sisters and i gathered around to peek, somewhat tentative but mostly fascinated.  we marveled as the little thing lit up, emitting a greenish-yellow hue from its underbelly.  after a few blinks, my cousin released it gently, and we all watched it float away into the distance.

as i recall this incident, it becomes clearer, like a lens coming into focus.  but if i were to recount it again tomorrow, or ask my sisters or cousin what they summon to mind, the story would have slight variations.  the recollection is one-sided and uniquely conscious to me in the way i've chosen to remember it.

memories are a bit like fireflies.  they hover, close to the surface, some more vivid than others.  they can be almost mystifying until you catch one, reminding yourself it's real.  you could jar them up to keep them close, but they're probably meant to be free and shared, like drifting rays in the dark expanse of our minds.