Of Fireflies and Fireworks

I sat in the wicker chair with my grandson, Aiden, watching some neighborhood fireworks shower the gray sky with multi-colored bursts just above the tree line.  With each explosion he would comment on how 'cool' that was.  The backdrop for the fireworks was an approaching thunderstorm.  The clouds stacked up, back lit by the remaining rays of sunlight.  Thunder rolled around us like bowling balls careening down polished alleys.  Slashing ribbons of lightening lit up the night sky as gray clouds sealed off the starlight.  Aiden said 'cool.' Fireflies came near us and one flew into a spider web near the concrete porch.  On hands and knees with his nose pressed near the web Aiden asked me: "How do they do that?" "Why do they do that?" "Will the spider kill it?" "Is it already dead?"  Then he used the tip of his finger to flip the firefly free.  He picked up a small stone, prodding the blinking yellow light-a nighttime caution sign.  Without hesitation the stone came down pressing the firefly into the concrete.  Aiden said 'cool.'  And I remembered my childhood moments sitting on the front porch of our home watching storms fall into the Pennsylvania hills.  And I remembered my childhood curiosity and smashing of fireflies.  Then Aiden called to me: "Look, Grandpa!  See all the fireflies."  The field across from us was a dark green blanket with a thousand dancing yellow lanterns, flickering on and off.  Aiden said 'cool.'  Where did I lose sight of how truly cool this gift of life is?  For a moment last night the concerns on my mind, the worries about world issues, and any restlessness they were stirring inside of me were lost in the joy of the moment.  And Grandpa said 'cool.'