As a child, the Fourth was dancing and twirling barefoot in the grass, my artwork burned into the inky night sky by sparklers. Most importantly, the Fourth of July marked the beginning of firefly season. There is nothing like running, jumping and squealing in delight, deep in the chase for bits of pixie dust floating in the air. The art of the hunt, the thrill of the catch. Catching a firefly is like catching a star, a mystery, a pixie, a fantasy. The night stands still, holding it's breath ... waiting. The slow unfolding of the hand, the blackness in the palms, until the burst of light that moves slowly on the fingertips and then floats effortlessly into the darkness. It is a fantastical event that captures the beauty of childhood, the spirit of happiness.