The Firefly Whisperer
He stalks his prey quietly- having just burst forth from the back door, or the porch, or from wherever he came that time.
Clad in either his school uniform, or whatever he rolled out of bed in that morning, he walks gingerly towards his target.
Quick as a flash his arms snap forth, fingers outstretched from his hands to ensnare the little lights into his palm.
“I got another one, Mommy!” My son moves towards me to display his prize.
My sweet little B, who can find so much joy in the simplest of things. I loved to catch fireflies when I was little, but not like him. He ignores the biting mosquitos that still plague us, and while I swat away the ones that are gnawing at my legs he moves with a fervent abandon to snatch more of the little flying lights out of the dusky air.
Sometimes we collect them in leftover Mason jars, with cut holes in the lids, and watch them glow. Sometimes it’s just a catch and release game, often seeing if the same ones can be caught again.
He yearns to know that he is good at something, that his reckless amounts of high little boy energy don’t just make him bad- as he often felt before. He loves lighting up the faces of those around him, whether it’s with his fireflies or something else.
He’s got a clever mind, although his verbal wit isn’t as sharp as baby sister’s, and he loves to dance and laugh.
He goes and goes and goes, catching more of the fireflies in front of me with such a graceful ease that I wonder how he does it.
He comes inside begrudgingly, and only at my insisted request.
In the bath and new clothes he goes, little sister was asleep much earlier- and she will arise much earlier.
He snuggles next to Mommy, and says how much he loves me. His energy his finally dwindling down, and he is my first born babe again. The one who made me Mother, and showed me what real love is. Mine will never go away from him, or his sister.
His eyes finally shut and my breath is taken away, because as each of them sleep they look just as they did the days they were born.
I bury my face against his skin and hair, it’s as if he still has that newborn scent.
I take in the moment and hold him close, and look forward to the next day when he will again bring his light to me.
Love to all y’all,
Molly
