Every moment is a new beginning.
That’s what my friend said as we sat physically distanced on her back deck, two-stories up, sipping a glass of wine as the heat and humidity of the day went the way of the sun slipping below the horizon. It was a moment I’ll remember when she spied our first firefly of the season. We both jumped up from our chairs and rushed over to the railing.
Where did it go? There it is! Oh wow. Are there any other fireflies? Nope. Looks like just one firefly for now. Doesn’t it look like a mirror to that star above the trees?
With each passing moment, more stars joined the scene which made me remember one of my favorite nights as a camp counselor and environmental educator. Since my friend is also an environmental educator and naturalist, I knew she wouldn’t find it too strange when I broke into song on the spot—a song sung by children in Cuba:
Sometimes just at twilight
there’s only one star
It shines in the night
very high very far
It looks very lonely
but soon I can see
its ten million playmates
all twinkling at me.
I had discovered the song years ago from an old music book for elementary school children. I had used it in numerous evening programs which led me to remembering this story and sharing it with my friend:
My students had just learned the song from Cuba and they had also just learned to identify the Big Dipper in the twilight sky overhead. One boy shared his idea with the group: How about if we join hands to form a chain and make the shape of the Big Dipper? His classmates seemed eager to do it and so I thought, why not follow this child’s lead to see where it takes us? We joined hands and he helped orient our chain to mirror the Big Dipper above us. Then, we sang the song over and over and over again.
It was magical. It was as if by singing to the stars, we had willed them to appear before our eyes.
Those were times when we freely hugged friends. When groups of neighborhood children played outside at night and summer camps happened. When people shook hands without grabbing sanitizer afterward. When crowds gathered in parks for reunions and concerts and ballgames. When communities celebrated the fourth of July with parades, picnics, and fireworks.
In a flash this year, our world has changed.
My friend and I had been lost in a pandemic fog before we got together this night. These troubled times had dulled and distanced and distracted us. Our hearts had ached over family health issues and how hard things had become for so many people. We had shared deep concerns about racism and her sister’s torched neighborhood in Minneapolis after George Floyd’s death and rioting there. We had grieved about people like my sister in a nursing home quarantined to her room for over a quarter of a year as we try save her life by preventing a COVID-19 infection even as her life is barely being lived in such extreme isolation. We had discussed the need for children to be in social settings like school classrooms and summer programs and on playgrounds in order to develop into their fullest selves. What would the future be like for her young granddaughter?
Okay. So our conversation was heavy—really heavy. As if wheels had fallen off our wagons and they—we—were no longer hitched to any stars. We had lost track of looking forward to tomorrow.
Then our solo firefly showed up and sparked memories. As each story of a memory unfolded—like my Big Dipper story—we ached a little less. My friend asked me to sing the song again. Sure enough, more stars appeared in the darkening sky. We smiled at each other and enjoyed that magical moment of our own. We remembered where we came from and why we had been friends for over forty years. It was like we found our way back home and we were catching “lightning bugs” in glass jars in our hometown neighborhood until the street lights came on—a signal that it was time to go inside. All we wanted then was to hold a blinking jar of starry bugs. To hold their magic close to our hearts and be simply amazed at the wonder of it all.
That’s how our firefly moment on this night gave us a new beginning.
We both felt it. Our weariness began to slip away, replaced by the glimmer of something different. Enthusiasm, perhaps? The firefly helped us notice the Big Dipper which pointed the way to the North Star and a brighter tomorrow.
Lately, my backyard looks like a blinking airport at dusk. I’ve never seen more flashes in the grass and more glowing trails in the sky as fireflies communicate with their bioluminescent signals.
It’s a booming year for fireflies. Perhaps, they are reflections of the times in which we live?
Times of contrasts between black and white. Times to illuminate injustices and take our callings to the streets and listening skies. Times to reset the cadence of our lives and share our lights with those who need them. Times lit up by firefly moments to awaken us and rekindle our hopes so we can muster the energy to hitch our wagons up to stars once again.
Yes, every moment can be a new beginning when we remember where we came from and let our voices, our actions, our inner lights mirror what is beautiful in this world. A radiant friend and firefly showed me the way.
Patty Dreier
Empowered: One Planet at a Time
A new book for people who want to make changes happen on social and environmental issues that matter to them.