More Nostalgia Catches Up To Me: Summer Buggin
Growing up in the suburbs didn't exactly place me at the heart of the wilderness, but close enough that I could find my chances to enjoy it. Many of my strongest and fondest memories come from the natural world around my house or excursions to parks or the middle of nowhere...
Tonight it occurred to me that it has been some time since I've seen a firefly. I've spent the last couple summers in the city, so of course I haven't seen any fireflies there. But even during the summer when I've stopped back in the 'burbs, I haven't had a chance to see any fireflies.
I don't think there's anything unique about my experience of fireflies. Watching them dance in the front or back yard, occasionally having one land on your hand, sometimes putting a couple in a jar with holes in the lid...
But they (much like the cicada which makes up the background of this LJ) were the landmarks of my summertime. I do miss them. And if they've disappeared from my neighborhood I'll be pretty disappointed. Come visit me over the course of the summer and if we can find them, we'll go chasing (even if that means jumping the fence to the golf course).
In Culture:
- firefly lanterns were used in China onceuponatime
- the Mayans sometimes referred to the firefly as Queen of the Stars
- Yayoi Kusama's "Fireflies on The Water"
In Books:
- Hard to think of many off the top of my head (though i'm sure there are many), but this post in particular was inspired by a passage from Norwegian Wood
The lights of Shinjuku glowed to the right, and Ikebukuro to the left. Car headlights flowed in brilliant streams from one pool of light to the other. A dull roar of jumbled sounds hung over the city like a cloud.
The firefly made a faint glow in the bottom of the jar, its light too weak, its color too pale. I hadn't seen a firefly in years, but the ones in my memory sent a far more intense light into the summer darkness, and the brilliant, burning image was the one that had stayed with me all the time.
Maybe this firefly was on the verge of death. I gave the jar a few shakes. The firefly bumped against the glass walls and tried to fly, but its light remained dim.
I tried to recall when I had last seen fireflies, and where it might have been. I could see the scene in my mind, but was unable to recall the time or place. I could hear the sound of water in the darkness and see an old-fashioned brick sluice. It had a handle you could turn to open and close the gate. The stream it controlled was small enough to be hidden on its banks. The night was dark, so dark I couldn't see my feet when I turned out my flashlight. Hundreds of fireflies drifted over the pool of water held back by the sluice gate, their hot glow reflected in the water like a shower of sparks.....
I waited forever....
Only much later did the firefly take to the air. As if some thought had suddenly come to it, the firefly spread its wings, and in a moment it had flown past the handrail to float in the pale darkness. It traced a swift arc by the side of the water tank as if trying to bring back a lost interval in time. And then, after hovering there for a few seconds as if to watch its curved line of light blend into the wind, it finally flew off to the east.
Long after the firefly had disappeared, the trail of its light remained inside me, its pale, faint glow hovering on and on in the thick darkness behind my eyelids like a lost soul.
More than once I tried stretching my hand out in the darkness. My fingers touched nothing. The faint glow remained, just beyond their grasp.
- Ogden Nash and Robert Frost both have their odes to the firefly.
In Films:
- The television tells me that some movie titled Bug premieres tomorrow. It looks like poo.
- I actually have been meaning to see Grave of the Fireflies
Tonight it occurred to me that it has been some time since I've seen a firefly. I've spent the last couple summers in the city, so of course I haven't seen any fireflies there. But even during the summer when I've stopped back in the 'burbs, I haven't had a chance to see any fireflies.
I don't think there's anything unique about my experience of fireflies. Watching them dance in the front or back yard, occasionally having one land on your hand, sometimes putting a couple in a jar with holes in the lid...
But they (much like the cicada which makes up the background of this LJ) were the landmarks of my summertime. I do miss them. And if they've disappeared from my neighborhood I'll be pretty disappointed. Come visit me over the course of the summer and if we can find them, we'll go chasing (even if that means jumping the fence to the golf course).
In Culture:
- firefly lanterns were used in China onceuponatime
- the Mayans sometimes referred to the firefly as Queen of the Stars
- Yayoi Kusama's "Fireflies on The Water"
In Books:
- Hard to think of many off the top of my head (though i'm sure there are many), but this post in particular was inspired by a passage from Norwegian Wood
The lights of Shinjuku glowed to the right, and Ikebukuro to the left. Car headlights flowed in brilliant streams from one pool of light to the other. A dull roar of jumbled sounds hung over the city like a cloud.
The firefly made a faint glow in the bottom of the jar, its light too weak, its color too pale. I hadn't seen a firefly in years, but the ones in my memory sent a far more intense light into the summer darkness, and the brilliant, burning image was the one that had stayed with me all the time.
Maybe this firefly was on the verge of death. I gave the jar a few shakes. The firefly bumped against the glass walls and tried to fly, but its light remained dim.
I tried to recall when I had last seen fireflies, and where it might have been. I could see the scene in my mind, but was unable to recall the time or place. I could hear the sound of water in the darkness and see an old-fashioned brick sluice. It had a handle you could turn to open and close the gate. The stream it controlled was small enough to be hidden on its banks. The night was dark, so dark I couldn't see my feet when I turned out my flashlight. Hundreds of fireflies drifted over the pool of water held back by the sluice gate, their hot glow reflected in the water like a shower of sparks.....
I waited forever....
Only much later did the firefly take to the air. As if some thought had suddenly come to it, the firefly spread its wings, and in a moment it had flown past the handrail to float in the pale darkness. It traced a swift arc by the side of the water tank as if trying to bring back a lost interval in time. And then, after hovering there for a few seconds as if to watch its curved line of light blend into the wind, it finally flew off to the east.
Long after the firefly had disappeared, the trail of its light remained inside me, its pale, faint glow hovering on and on in the thick darkness behind my eyelids like a lost soul.
More than once I tried stretching my hand out in the darkness. My fingers touched nothing. The faint glow remained, just beyond their grasp.
- Ogden Nash and Robert Frost both have their odes to the firefly.
In Films:
- The television tells me that some movie titled Bug premieres tomorrow. It looks like poo.
- I actually have been meaning to see Grave of the Fireflies