The Burial of the Firefly

No headlines marked the death of the firefly. It flickered out in the fog of fluorescent halos. We lit our cities so brightly we forgot the stars had something to say. Now, the night is restless. Children are raised beneath ceilings that never go black, never teach them how to talk to silence. The firefly’s glow was never loud. But it taught us that light could be tender, too. That some beauty isn’t blinding. When we measure progress in brightness and speed, we forget the wonder that waned. Look around. What else are we erasing, one convenience at a time?