The first firefly

Air, cool and dark, deep like a well, curls around me, caressing me. Sweet smells of a Lilac Tree and nearby flowers swirl with grass and wet soil. The Summer that I love is here at last. New friends will be here soon.

But I have made one special friend: the first firefly of the year, winking in the distance. How must it feel to be the first firefly of the Summer? Lonely, I think. You call out in light and find only darkness yelling back. Though… It is not only a lonely existence.

In the jet night, being the only firefly, the world is your ocean, you the sole lighthouse. You can shine, free from the crowd, not merely another blinking light but the light, sharing the glory of the stars and moon. To be seen, to be known, to be appreciated for a beauty all your own, free of the comparisons forced within a swarm of peers.

Yes, lonely. But only in loneliness can the great shine. Great persons need loneliness for they are not, can not be, the same as anyone else. Lighthouses to a world in need of a light. Earthbound stars, guiding the sea-worn travelers in the absence of day.

To lead these dark-blinded souls simply by being who you are, to light up the dark when no other shares the burden, to kindle the fire-light that soon consumes the air, that is to be the first firefly. Bear the dark as your burden, friend, and laugh as you drive it before you. Shine ever more constant, finding others to shine, then blend into the flickering cloud, no brighter than any other, no greater than any other. Change the air without being remembered, pointing instead to the great light not your own, but the light which belongs to all.

Oh, to be held in the same thought as the stars…

Oh, to be the first firefly…

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