Imagine yourself a lonely male creature. It’s mid-July, and you are floating in the vast darkness of someone’s backyard near the edge of a woods, your torso glowing on and off, yellow-gold, as you dip and rise through the dewy night air. You are filled with intense desire; your instincts tell you you might have but a few weeks to live, and that you must seize the day!

Somewhere beneath you, in the dense jungle of giant grass blades, clover and weed, a female searches the heavens for a sign – for an archangel that she might summon through her own heart-lamp to her nesting place and there to make fiery love, to create life that will someday fill the skies like Japanese lanterns.

OK, that is a slightly romanticized version of the love-life of Photinus Pyralis, more commonly known as a firefly or lightning bug. These are members of the beetle family of flying insects, and are widespread across the Eastern part of the US. Like common insects, their life progresses through four stages – what is referred to as metamorphosis.

The female produces eggs, but she needs assistance in bringing them to life, which is where the male becomes useful. After the male does his little dance, the egg becomes this globby, mindless mouthy mess called larva, which devours anything in its path (kind of like some monsters in the old sci fi movies!).

After it’s done gorging itself, which is a relatively long time, it enters into the pupal stage, a quiet time of meditation as it begins to assemble adult qualities. Interestingly, early in this stage they don’t look much like their parents. (Perhaps it’s like some middle school kid asking himself/herself, “who am I really? I sure don’t want to be like my parents!”)

At last, the metamorphosis is complete, and we have the adult version – the imago! (which, alas, does greatly resemble the parents).

The intermittent flashing of the bug’s torso is a product of light-activated proteins in their bodies. Its solitary purpose is to convey, through the cover of night, its desire to reproduce, its horny-ness. The airborne male’s light lasts a nano-second, and recurs every five to eight seconds on average, depending on the temperature. If interested in the signals coming from above, females respond quickly, in one to three seconds.

There are some interesting theories as to the female firefly’s mating preferences. One surmises that she knows a good catch when she sees it – the brighter the torso, the more nutrients are packed and ready for delivery – “his nuptial gifts.” It should be noted that she is not faithful to any one male, no matter how big his lamp. In fact, she is likely to dump him the same night in favor of a fresh virgin who is chock full of pizzazz!

In the study of all creatures, we must explore their defense mechanisms – how do they survive when someone or something is always trying to eat them? In the case of the Photinus Pyralis, they ward off predators through Lucibufagins, a steroid compound which probably tastes worse than formaldehyde. Not even bats can stand it.

Lightning bugs have long been a source of mystical fascination. Poets and composers and artists of all kinds have contemplated fireflies for centuries. Here is Robert Frost’s “Fireflies in the Garden,” framed in the advent of a clear summer night:

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies / And here on earth come emulating flies /

That though they never equal stars in size / (And they were never really stars at heart) /

Achieve at times a very star-like start. / Only, of course, they can’t sustain the part.

OK, I must admit it: Bob’s inadequate bugs are better than my glowing torsos. But I do like my comparison to a sky filled with Japanese lanterns, if only they would stay lit.

Pete Howard is the author of The Hourglass Pendant and other Paul James Mysteries. He lives in Dunkirk and teaches ELA at Northern Chautauqua Catholic School. Send comments to editorial@observertoday.com