Fireflies & Constellations
a metaphor
A wide field.
The grass sticks out, tiny flecks of dirt flinging up as I run.
I have only one desire: to catch every firefly my eyes can see. Jugnus, they call them. One after another, I chase them. I catch a feisty red one; another slips away.
With every step, every sprint, a shimmer of pixie dust trails behind me.
I run and run, madly chasing these luminous little critters.
Until my toes hurt.
Until my knees give out.
Until I am gasping for breath.
When I finally stop, I look back.
A pixie-dust constellation lies behind me, sprawled across the ground, an intricate image emerging out of nowhere. I never saw it coming, thinking I was just randomly chasing colourful bugs.
Every direction I ran in, every firefly I was drawn to, was predestined. Meant to happen. Had its purpose. My actions beckoned a sight.
A sight connecting all the randomness I’d scattered across the open field.
Did the image make sense? Yes.
Do I like it? Meh, it’s okay.
But it is what it is.
I get up, dust myself off.
The sun is out. Tonight, I will find another field to run on.
