Don Hughes
Nov 2018/revised March 2020
We arrive at the crowded Village Green anticipating
great man-made fires in the night sky
bombs bursting in midair
lighting tilted faces with blue green red and white
flashing arcs of glitter
screaming whistles
and exploding stars
scattering toxic dust upon the admiring crowd.
We witness the finale!
an orgasmic release
with thunderous booms and brilliant displays.
The pyrotechnicians have earned their pay,
and a round of applause.
But the show is over.
We head homewards, into the deep night, through
a dark, forested Lane
and are startled by a vision of fireflies
illuminating the darkness with flickering
constellations of white light.
Hundreds of rhythmic pulses displayed
in utter silence.
Females in search of males.
A magical mating dance enacted every summer
without fanfare
An audience of trees stands mute.
We depart, the fireflies yet lighting up the night.