Actually, I had planned to mow. All day as the mercury climbed, I thought: When it cools down a bit, I’ll get those two sections done. Before it gets gelatinously humid tomorrow [because it is the weekend, and weekends do that in scenic Elsinore]….
And so I sort through papers, pay bills, prepare dinner, and wait for the sun to go back behind those trees for a bit. And I get the lawnmower ready.
And as I’m plugging in the last bit of extension cord, and rolling towards that first patch of grass, I see them.
The fireflies were starting their show for the evening. All through the lawn I could see little yellow abdomens swaying as the beetles climbed to the tips of grassblades, some flashing, some waiting until they were airborne to flare brightly every few seconds.
On the tips of the grass — oh, bad word. I can’t mow through them! It’s bad enough I’m going to have to trim back the fig trees this fall and risk losing part of next years crop. I can’t justify decimating this year’s lightning bug population and next year’s as well, just because my neighbors want the world to be manicured. There should be beauty in the evening, too.
So I mowed a section where the lightning bugs were not hovering and blinking at one another, and then went inside to share dinner with Word.
Here are two Japanese songs about lightning bugs: One focusing on the humans who watch the fireflies, the other focuses on the lightning bugs themselves [I’ve sung this one: in the translated lyrics is the gem: “Firefly’s daddy — he has lots of dough/No wonder his rear end sparkles in the dark”]
[No, the image isn’t kryptonite; it’s a backlit emerald at the Smithsonian Institute]