Fourth of July Fireflies

Ext. Christina’s backyard. Night.

I sit in my broken lawn chair, rocking back and forth to see if I can break it.  The air sits stagnantly in the sky, tiny water droplets suspended in front of my face.

I turn to Christina. “That was a great fireworks display,” I say, grinning.

Every year her neighbors outdo themselves with the amounts of fireworks and the elaborate sequencing. This year’s display consisted of a few highlight fireworks,--ones that looked like spiral noodles, others that shot up so high in the sky that one could lose track of them, and tiny sparkler fireworks.

Content, I sigh, glancing at my surroundings. Christina’s parents sit jollily, drinking a beer; the bonfire burns brightly, snapping and crackling to the right of my chair; lighting strikes in the distance. Behind the bonfire I glance at the forest path—and then glance again. My breath catches.

“Christina…” I whisper.

“What?” she asks, quizzically.

“Look,” I breathlessly reply, pointing to the woods.

In front of the navy blue backdrop of the sky and trees, were fireflies. Hundreds of fireflies, twinkling like tiny stars in the trees. After seeing the fireworks display that ended not even five minutes before, I was struck by the beauty of God’s creation, between the lighting and the fireflies, it was as if He was saying, “Children, here are MY fireworks,” delighting in the one night that all look at the sky and give it the audience that it deserves.

“Can we…should we…can we have an adventure?” I look at Christina expectantly, being fearful of walking in the woods in the dark, yet not wanting to miss this moment, wanting to soak it all up like the humidity that was soaking into my clothes.

“Come on,” she courageously replies, grabbing a flashlight just in case we got lost, urging me past my childish fears.

We trample through the grass to the woods, tripping on unknown foliage, finally finding ourselves alone with Nature, away from the bonfire and people. We stand at the edge of the forest path, looking upon a swampy meadow with tall grass, and a path carefully cut down in the middle of the tall reeds and grasses. Christina leads, knowing the path well, and I follow behind.

I take one step into the woods, hardly believing that this moment could exist on earth, as it seems to come out of a fairy tale. The fireflies twinkle around me like whimsical fairy dust, flittering about around my being. Lightning strikes silently in the distance, adding an emphasis of spontaneous light to my wonder.  The tall grass scrapes against my bare legs. Sometimes I have to push the reeds out of my path, feeling like a curious child rounding a corner.

I am a princess. Tonight, I am in the woods. No purpose, no reason. Not running away, not going towards something, just existing in my serene dress, in wonder and beauty.  I am a princess, as my hand stretches out to catch a pulsing light, as my sister walks ahead, leading confidently. Water and dirt and slugs squish between my royal toes, and I relish in the feeling.

And as we walk out of the woods fifteen minutes later, having completed the semi circle path, I somehow feel different. Like I had witnessed something in those woods that was ethereal, everlasting. I want to package that walk in the woods in a box, take a snapshot of it to revisit during a later date. Walking back to the bonfire, all I can do is smile.

“Christina,” I whisper ecstatically, “We just had an adventure!” 

I giggle, still feeling like a princess.

I am fully aware that this moment won’t last, that living fully in the moment will soon go away, replaced by the daily petty worries and anxieties that I fall victim to. But for now, I can relish in the truth that was revealed to me in the woods.

This life is a gift that we unwrap moment by moment, day by day.

That’s what the fourth of July fireflies reminded me.