Little can compete with fireworks. Their size and sound and brightness puts them at the pinnacle of the pinnacle celebrations. I used to like them when I was young. Getting to them was a journey, as was getting home. We came in boats, we hitchhiked, we rode our ATVs down the beach, sometimes we walked miles.Now that I have a dog that is afraid of fireworks, I’d just as soon do without the colorful explosions that we will upon the night. Are there not plenty of other, less terrifying light shows to watch? Just the sunset for example? Or dawn?
The official census of fireflies couldn’t be published, because of the sequester, so amateurs around town have stepped up to the plate and are busily counting them. As of right now, they are up to infinity. Never, since we started counting lampyridae, have we seen more. The evening is transformed—the road is full of them, their greenish throb and float making driving hard. The meadow is something so beautiful that I cannot describe it here for fear it would break the page. And still miss the mark.
The counters reason that the numbers are so high because the cold, wet June has condensed their mating season into NOW and intensified the night directly.
One could say the same appeared to be true for humans in the Hamptons as well. Never more people, never more traffic, with beacons of status and bling.
Part of committing yourself to living in one place is that you must accept that your home will change physically and figuratively. And you also must acknowledge that you are going to be “limited” in the number of things you see and experience. However, with the territory of staying-put comes the opportunity to study where you are, and just as you accept the inevitability of change, you may understand the stimulus behind it. Quite true, there are days of relative repetition, but eventually there comes something I’ve never seen before, and my complacency is undone. I readmit to the small world that I don’t know after all.
Yesterday, in broad daylight, I witnessed boys trying to steal a bike from my neighbor’s backyard, and my neighbor giving chase. The action I saw, however, was partially obscured by a large beech tree and a hedge. It wasn’t until my neighbor told me how he drove the thief off the bike, and considered pummeling his teenage face, but didn’t, that I could understand what I had seen.