It was a moonless night and he could smell the storm coming in from the east. Subsequently, the initial sparks of light graced the dark sky. He trudged over the muddy hills and saw them flickering in the distance; fireflies. He reached the stone slab and knelt down, watching the tiny dancing bugs speak to the lightning. Both natural creations flashed messages back and forth in what seemed to be perfect Morse code.
Dean closed his eyes. How terrified he’d be whenever the storms rolled in. The crashing clouds and majestic displays of lightning sent him scurrying under the covers. Then Martin, the new stable hand moved in and whenever the rain came calling, Dean watched him gaze in awe at nature’s magnificent designs.
As curiosity overcame fear, Martin took him to observe the fireflies, as the first streaks of lightning flashed intermittently above.
“They’re talking to each other!” exclaimed Dean.
What followed was a growing admiration of nature’s sagacity, as Dean, now a Professor of Atmospheric Physics, bent fondly near the gravestone of the man who helped him discover this fascination. Martin was laid to rest among his indigenous companions, an apt place for the man who loved nature.
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction