I’ve been in the greater Boston area for 12 years now. City living pulses with neon and noise and crowds and you get used to it. It’s normal not to see the Milky Way or anything other than the brightest of stars. Knowing they’re there is enough. Seeing isn’t always believing.
Except for when an after dinner walk in NJ showcases the fireflies. Their bright butts twinkling in the smoky dusk left me breathless. I’m used to street lamps lighting the way, which, to be fair, is romantic in its practicality, but there’s something uniquely delicious in the impractical, infrequent, iridescent illumination of a firefly.
I must not go so long in between visits outside of a city’s borders.