Two nights ago, I was about to hose down the front of my car because the radiator had become a graveyard of dragonflies, butterflies, and love bugs after my trip down from Gainesville. When I shot a stream of water at the front of my Jeep, a little black luciérnaga flew out from underneath the car. The small blips of fluorescent green on its back reminded me of summers growing up, when my cousin and I would catch them in mason jars under the careful direction of my grandmother. We were too young to care about the chemical reactions taking place within the fireflies that would produce their emerald glow, but we became experts in catching them during the early evening hours before dinnertime.
It's the first one I've seen since the summer before I first moved out of Miami and I caught myself smiling as I turned off the hose and watched it for a moment until it took off again and swirled away behind some palm trees.
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