Gloworms and Fireflies

I remember thinking, as a kid, that fireflies didn't look much like fire at all. And the name lightening bug didn't really fit either as I had seen just about as much green lightening in my life as I had green fire. The thing is, in New England, or at least in New Hampshire, fireflies cast off a pale greenish-yellow glow, not a
fiery-red spark, or a white-lightening flash, so neither name ever made much sense to me.

Sure, maybe "glow-worm" would have fit a little better, but for one thing, a fly is not a worm and even at that tender age you would have had a hard time convincing me otherwise. Secondly, after the 1982 introduction of our cuddly friend to the left, the Gloworm (his face lights up when you hug him!), I'm not sure anyone can say "glow-worm" now with a straight face - at least not anyone from my generation. (For the record, I never had a gloworm of my own. That was an honour reserved for the middle child.) So I was stuck with the term "firefly".

Tonight, though, I finally discovered the fire in the fly. I was lingering around the barn, waiting for the woman who would drive me home to finish discussing stable business around the wooden table that is the barn's sitting place. Fifteen minutes earlier the sun had just started to brush the horizon. Now, in its place, was a full moon. One of the stable hands brought out an oil lantern to light the table. The rest of the barn had only the moonlight. I stood in the middle, away from the table, and watched the horses chew their dinner. A stable is never so quiet as it is at dinner time. And then I saw it- a little spark of fire in the air, just above the ground. For the briefest second, I looked around for the fire, confused. I was certain I had seen a piece of ash, still red hot, floating through the air. In that instant, all the campfires of my childhood had come rushing back and I expected to see a troop of girl scouts at my feet. You see, it had even moved like ash.

But it wasn't ash, and in the next moment I knew it wasn't, because in the next moment that first little spark became a sea of little sparks throughout the stable, and yet the horses weren't whinnying, breaking down their gates, or running for the hills. It couldn't be fire. And then I realised, it was African fireflies.