Right across the street from my
driveway is a field. It's a field of tall grass, and uneven ground –
or, so I assume. There's a clump of trees to the left of my driveway,
on the edge, but they are small, and practically bushes. Yards away
from the street, the ground turns up to become a hill, and, at the
base, a line of trees that continues back – paused by the creek
that runs parallel the road – and up the hill. The woods.
During the day, the sun shines down
brightly, and you can see that the grass is clumped together, and one
really doesn't care to try walk through it. In fact, it's
rather...uninteresting, and probably home only to small tunneling
creatures, such as rabbits, moles, and snakes – though I've never
seen them. A handful of times a year, the grass gets mowed down by a
tractor, but it's still a mess, and still looking as though it lacks
adventure to be had.
But at night, in the late spring and
early summer, things are different.
At dusk, they appear. When the sun
sets, and the sky grays down to its midnight blue, they come out in
droves.
Their lights twinkle and shimmer in the
dark. That's all you see of them. Some of them are back in the trees,
near the ground as well as up in the branches. Some are near the
road, and you feel as though you can catch them if you go to the edge
of the field. Most, however, are in between. And they dance back and
forth, appearing here, appearing there, and then disappearing
immediately afterwords.
They make the field look alive with
magic. Their glimmering in the gentle heat of the summer night air
call to you, begging your eyes to feast on their yellow ethereal
beauty.
Some are only momentary appearances,
while others may linger a second longer. But none last. They are a
mystery among themselves, you think, winking at you without realizing
it. It's the stars come down to earth. It's...wonderful.
They're fireflies, I know they are.
But, when I see them, just for a
little, I almost believe that they are fairies.
