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He was a story teller, my old man, and he was never more in his glory
than when sitting around a campfire telling us a story.

I’m not sure where they came from but as we sat bathed in the campfire light
we were captivated…mesmerized..we could have listened to him all night.

One of my favorite stories…I still remember the look in my dad’s eyes
in the cool of a summer evening when he told us about fireflies.

He had just kindled the fire when he gathered us around
“Watch the fire closely,” he whispered, “and do not make a sound.”

“Out of these dancing flames.” He continued, “You won’t believe your eyes.
for you will be a witness to the birth of fireflies.”

An evil witch once held three children and in the darkness of the night
fireflies led them to safety as they followed their twinkling lights.

The old witch was so angry…every firefly immediately fell
(as she said mumbled wicked magic words)…under the evil of her spell.

“From this day forward,” the old witch smirked, “because of what you did to me
every firefly in the world shall be encased within the trees.”

The old witch thought she was pretty smart then sat down to have a feast
never realizing in a campfire the fireflies would be released.

And once released from within the tree…those evil words the witch had spoken
could not harm the fireflies again…because her spell was broken.

“So rest your eyes on the fire.” Dad said. “Be as quiet as a can be.
and see if you can count all the fireflies that you see.”

We did as we were told and we couldn’t believe our eyes
out of that fire…out of those flames…we saw the birth of fireflies.

I cannot tell you how many…don’t know the exact amount
because as the fire burned on that evening…the three of us lost count.

Today the adult in me knows they are just ashes…
escaping the fire as they soar up to the sky
but the child in me can’t help smiling every time I witness
the birth of fireflies.
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