The grass was cut. The sun was punching the clock. And I was waiting for the last load of laundry to finish to hang it on the line. Here in Upstate New York at the border of the Arnot Forest, no one minds the occasion of fluttering clothes. I was soon done with that chore and I dropped onto the old green hammock, with its battered edges, for a few minutes and stared up through the pines and saw them. Fireflies. A symphony of them. Maybe a fugue is a better analogy, because that is how they appeared, coming in waves, with repetitive and overlapping bursts of yellow-white glow. Tonight I was on star patrol knowing that the Crescent Moon and Venus would be sharing space in the sky. I hadn't expected the fireflies. At least not in the numbers that I saw this night. Yet, I have a colony of thriving honey bees living quite noisily under the eaves of the roof where the upper part of the house meets the porch. We have agreed to leave each other alone and so far, that is working. Here where I live, there is nearly no light pollution. I can see the Milky Way tonight. One spectacular show above and then, as I walked, sweater on now, down the road by the old 1895 house I live in, the fireflies put on a display that is lodged in my mind and heart, and I have to share it. On either side of the road in the weed-filled and wildflower-funding fields that look out on my home on the outskirts of the Finger Lakes, thousands of fireflies punctuated the atmosphere with their tiny non-electronic light display. The air was just cool enough to make the night canvas twice as clear as it has been in these recent rainy days. I stopped walking and just gazed, thinking how could I capture this with my camera. Should I even try? No, here is a case where the majesty of the human eye, the camera non-eclipsed, was my best and only necessary ally. I looked and saw the Big Dipper and fireflies appeared to be diving in and out of the wide cup-like part of the constellation. By it was Leo. I've never truly identified Leo until tonight. I walked back to the house and went inside and called my daughter downstairs and told her to grab a sweater and come walk with me. When we turned from the front walk and left the light of the front porch, she saw them. She called it, "Legit," her new word for moments or just things that are real and worth savoring. I wondered outloud how ancient man must have viewed these kinds of fields of love-seeking fireflies. Is that how fairies were first imagined? As dancing entities creating a carpet of tracer lights? The moon had the elegant Earth shadow highlighting its left side, rather king-like tonight, reigning over my fields of fairy fireflies, as the crescent was just a crown afterall. That, too, was sigh-inspiring. One June night. One night quite glorious and calming. I needed this night.