O King of Beasts

Filed under: by: Chris

Last night some friends and I decided to go out and catch fireflies. This is not because we suddenly turned into nine year olds, but because we really couldn’t think of anything else to do. But boredom at home is the subject of another post.

Our quest for fireflies was kind of doomed from the start. Our first issue was not having the standard storage device: An empty jar with holes poked in the lid. Instead, we improvised with a colored water bottle with a screw-off lid that had a nozzle that acted like an air hole. You’d think that would be better, but for some reason it wasn’t and it made it hard to capture anything.

Additionally, we didn’t have any nets. This wasn’t a problem when we were nine, because, well, we were nine and things were magical and different and special back then. Fireflies were drawn to our hands as if we had coated them honey. In retrospect, I’m pretty sure the average child’s hands are covered in something sticky and sweet at least 60% of the time, so that may have worked in our favor back then.

The environment also had a hand in our lack of success. We went on the move to catch our fireflies, preferring to not stand still and let the mosquitoes devour us. We could have put on bug spray, but think people… had we put on bug spray, would we have caught any fireflies? No. And, as if they were hobbits carrying a ring, the fireflies tried their best to stay off the road. The yards around us were swarming with fireflies (and bats!), but we didn’t dare wander off onto other people’s property.

In order to get to the fireflies over a grassy area that wouldn’t be someone’s yard, we decided to venture over to the park. We actually made it over there with no problem, but there were sketchy people playing basketball there after dark, and we didn’t want to intrude upon their sketchtasticness.

In all, we claimed about seven fireflies for a half hour’s trip. We were pathetic, but then again, maybe we weren’t meant to achieve greatness in the hunt. Perhaps the graceful firefly is meant to prowl the suburbs of Alexandria freely, with its piercing gaze not to be muddled through a glass jar. I salute you, O King of Beasts: Firefly, for humoring me by allowing me to catch a few of the obviously weaker members of your pack without being mauled by your numerous fangs.

Fun Fact: I never used to call them fireflies, I used to call them lightning bugs. But after watching Firefly, I’ve since been much more likely to say “firefly” than “lightning bug.”

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