Fireflies.

Out behind my house there is a small wooded area. I don't often go there. I peer at it from my bedroom window on rainy days and give it a passing glance when I take out the trash. But, it stays largely ignored by me.

Now it is summertime and that means the air is always sticky sweet and the nights are the only time I can bear to be outside for very long. I have always loved summer nights, despite my general distaste for summer days and always coming back itching and sweating. There is something about a summer night which seems pregnant with magic.

When it gets to be dark, I stand under the car port I am supposed to park in, but never do and watch the fireflies dance. I don't think about spiders or scorpions or itching or sweating. I just watch the hundreds of fireflies dance in the field and in the trees. There is a simple magic to it.

If I were able to make a pill out of fireflies in open fields on summer nights, it would remedy panic attacks, existential crises and broken hearts.