Fireflies

Fireflies

Noel Laflin

12-15-17

Two boys sat on a log watching twilight turn to dark.

The younger one had been quietly crying – while the other, his best friend and neighbor from three doors down back home, tried to cheer him; thus far, to no avail.  The pair had wandered away from the rest of the kids after dinner, taking refuge on a fallen tree, listening to a nearby creek make its way downstream.

Suddenly, tiny glowing specks began to flicker at the edge of the woods.

“Fireflies!” Kris gasped.

“Really?” asked his friend, wiping away a tear.  It was his first night at summer camp and he was already terribly homesick.

 

“Dang, no one is going to believe this,” Kris said, jumping up and dancing with excitement.

“I’ve never seen one,” said the younger boy, tears now gone.

“Me neither; they’re not supposed to be here,” the older, wiser of the two explained.  At fifteen, he ought to know, thought the other boy.  As he’d known him all his life, if he said something was true, well, that was proof enough for him.

“I have always been told they don’t come west of the Rockies,” Kris said, taking off his cap, swatting madly, trying to trap one of the twinkling bugs.

“I bet they’ve come to cheer you up – take your mind off of things,” he concluded.  “We’d never have seen these if we’d stayed at home!”

And there was truth in that too, I thought, now laughing and dancing crazily about, trying to capture a little fire in my hands.

Their unexpected, glowing arrival had already warmed my heart, dried the tears, and chased thoughts of home far away.