you can't instagram fireflies

these appalachian summer nights defy social media
(defy words, really);
you can't instagram fireflies
or how it feels to be calf-deep in grass still dewy from the afternoon's thunderstorms
at that magical moment where day becomes night
and the dusk creeps in
fireflies appearing as if out of nowhere, sparks of light popping through the grass
and the sunset sweeping across the sky
pink too bold to be true
vibrant purple
painting the sky above the hills, thick with greenery
rolling all around
in one hand i have a container full of blueberries picked only a moment before
a pint of whiskey in the crook of the other arm
standing with friends, calf-deep in the grass
shaking peaches from the tree
standing in the blueberry bushes as night descends
i am struck with the beauty of it, and i imprint the scene on my mind
for this is an experience that no digital camera can touch
(i don't have my phone anyway; it stopped working a whole county away)
and i wouldn't need it anyway -
you can't tweet this feeling