The lightning bugs are out.
I catch one with little effort.
Such easy prey, broadcasting their location as they float lazily across the sky.
This one is lucky.
I open my hand, watch him traverse my palm, spread his wings, and move on.
I cannot help but think of so many who had a harsher fate.
Those grabbed up by my young hands,
Forced into a jelly jar Granny pulled from under the house,
And then trapped by the lid she poked through with the old can opener.
They would spend their last hours as my night light,
Perched on the coffee table while I slept beneath in a sleeping bag.
Every morning after would find them lifeless in my jar, regardless of the air holes.
I would learn later that I had stolen their chance at a legacy,
And would never trap another one.