Fireflies

Remembering you . . .
The fireflies of this marsh
seem like sparks
that rise
from my body's longing.

Izumi Shikibu

A few weekends ago I got to go to Misato, a place out in the country famous for its many fireflies. There is a stream up in the mountains where they like to gather in mid June, just before rainy season hits.

When I was younger we used to see fireflies out by the pond near our house. I remember trying to catch them occasionally, but Nic and Zac were better at it than me. Aside from that, though, I'd never seen them amassed in such big number before. 

A couple from church invited me to their house for dinner one night, a lavish spread of delicious Japanese food on display. Karaage (fried chicken), cabbage salad, Tokushima barley soup, tofu, and potato salad. They showed me around their giant farmhouse with the wraparound porch and tatami floors, explained what all the plants in the garden were, then drove us out to the mountains for the lights show. Unfortunately it was raining, so many of the performers stayed indoors, but we still got to see a good smattering of them. The bridge above the stream was lined with umbrellas, protecting all the spectators from the pitter pattering raindrops. Down below,  tiny lights floated about the stream like a quiet scene from a fairytale. Sometimes they tried to climb to the pines above, and other times they flew to inspect us watchers.

When the rain started coming down more heavily, the darlings flew for cover and the cars drove home. Just before getting back to their house, we stopped by a stream where fireflies like to hang out. At first glance it seemed dark, but when we got out of the car, could see them hiding shyly beneath glowing blades of grass that overlooked the water.

Despite the rain, it was a beautiful night.