The Turn to Summer
On the summer solstice, as the earth completed its northward tilt toward the sun, I stepped into the front yard to appreciate the planet’s wobble and enjoy the gift of extra light. The evening show was just starting, and the robins were settling into their balcony seats to enjoy it. Minutes before that late sunset, the fireworks began. Lightning bugs started to rise from the grass and reinforced the fact that I need nothing except moments like this to keep me happy.
Lately, we neighbors have mentioned how few lightning bugs we see these days, but that night, though certainly not a multitude, there were quite a few. They – the learned, empirical They say if we want lightning bugs, we should mow our grass a little higher and not spray chemicals on our lawns and gardens. Better yet, leave a corner of the yard unmown, and make those little biofluorescent miracles even happier. I mowed my front yard two days earlier, so the grass wasn’t tall yet, but apparently it was high enough for fireflies to hide and survive. My father always taught me to mow my lawn higher in the summer, with the idea that it would provide shade and cooling for the roots during the hot months. And because I’m a good girl, I yam, (My Fair Lady reference here—say it aloud with a Cockney accent) I almost always listened to my father, and I mow high. What he and I didn’t know back then was we were also providing habitat for insects.
The sun set, and the fireflies did their courtship dances in the warm air of a season turning from spring into summer. Their lives are so short, but I hope those dances and light shows are filled with more than just the drive to procreate, but also the joy of a gentle summer’s night. Yes, you could accuse me of anthropomorphizing, but perhaps joy can be felt by all creatures. I want to believe that.
There is certainly joy to be found on a summer night, listening to the robins settle in to their evening roosts as they catch up with friends and family, and watching the lightning bugs rise like bubbles in a glass of champagne. It makes me feel close to my mother, who loved robins and gardens and, especially, the longest day of the year. And close to my father, who loved that my mother and I loved nature. I hope the people we love who have passed before us can still experience summer nights like this on the other side of the veil, because, to me, this is heaven.
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