The weather has been unseasonably cool and dry this week, which has helped to keep the bug life down; every last biting, stinging, sucking, buzzing, feeding, crawling, creeping, icking, disease carrying bit of it.
However, last night while out walking I was surprised to spot what must be this year’s last firefly hovering in the trail ahead of me. As I drew near, it flashed once, briefly, but with no real enthusiasm. I stopped for a moment to appreciate the little creature, feeling a strange sense of kinship with it: it being the last firefly of the season; me being a 49 year old, non-Christian, liberal single woman living in Missouri.
