I remember distinctly the first time I ever saw fireflies. I
was about four years old and on the first trip I recall with my parents. We
were visiting family in a far off place called Virginia. I was fascinated with the big
houses, the farm lands and a lot of loving attention from people I had never
But most of all, I remember the fireflies. Where I lived in Florida, we didn’t see
fireflies. My mother and I were sitting on the porch of the home we were
visiting and the sultry day had given way to a cooler twilight. Suddenly, the
lawn began to twinkle. I wondered if this place was magic. Were these fairies?
No, I was told, they are fireflies. You can only see them at this time of day.
Since that day, I have loved fireflies. I recently saw a
movie called Seven Days in Utopia.
There is a scene where the main character catches fireflies in a jar and then
realizes that in the jar they don’t light up.
“It’s because they’re trapped,” is the explanation. How
interesting. When we’re trapped—cut off from our source of life—our light can’t
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. Maybe
I’ll be somebody’s firefly.