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Luminous
on silent retreat
Late July, 2020. As dusk descends
on the monastery yard, suddenly
an apparition: dozens of fireflies —
a synchronized entrance, like strings
in an orchestral ballet. Days ago,
I’d bid them adieu, a nod to
their midsummer diminuendo
in my own yard. Each year they seem
less numerous. Then what accounts
for this plenty?
‘ Turns out
that this summer in the Smokies,
the synchronous display is unfolding
in the absence of human hoards —
a blessing for the bioluminescent beetles.
No boots to trample larvae emerging
from a year or two burrowing in the dirt
and leaf litter. No rising into a throng
of unwanted headlights, camp lanterns
and smart phone intrusion.
Oh, to be the entomologist
to witness in pandemic quiet:
a few quick yellow flashes at dusk,
then eight seconds of darkness, until
the blinking builds into a swell…
hundreds of thousands of glow worms
flickering in mating frenzy.
Perhaps a clue to firefly abundance
is silence—the near absence of us.
Here in this cloister, with only a nebula
of chanted prayer among the pines,
hundreds of fireflies rise like unseen
souls from this quiet patch of grass.
Comforting then, to imagine them
in India, Malaysia, Congaree National Park,
Tinesta, PA—all their well-known
mating grounds, convening undisturbed
to bless our ailing world with light. |
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