Glow

Last Wednesday night I shut down the computer, set the alarm, and tumbled into bed. A minute later, Sylvie jumped up and I opened my eyes as she nuzzled my nose in the dark, then settled down by my elbow.

Something above the curtains winked greenly. Car headlights sweep the ceiling, and the buttons on the DSL box glows all night, so I thought nothing of a small light in the room.

Until the cat made a slashing leap across my body. My eyes popped open to see the green glow six inches away from my face. *flash*flash*flash* It floated soundlessly towards the wall. *flash*flash*flash* I had a lightning bug in my bedroom.

First I tried to ignore it. I wanted to sleep, but evidently Sylvie determined to catch this blinking light, so much like a fun laser pointer game. She was going to walk all over me all night.

I shuffled out to the kitchen in search of a jar to catch the beetle in. I came up with an empty cat food can and a folded paper towel. Luckily the lightning bug was very close to the wall. Without turning the lights on, I centered the can over the ethereal glow and brushed the insect in.

I covered the can with the paper towel. *flash*flash*flash* filtered through the towel, reminding me of childhood games played with a flashlight. Humid air left over after the evening’s storms rolled into the living room as I lifted the screen and shook the bug into the thick night. *flash* then he was gone from view.

After a moment’s hesitation, I followed him. I flip-flopped out to the backyard where myriads of his kind pulsed over the knee-high weeds, dipped toward the short grass, drifted slowly heavenward. They semaphored their desire with the dust of long-imploded stars, unknowingly signaling to the same dust in me.