Fireflies. Seriously, that's about the only thing that comes to mind. I can remember warm, humid summer nights in Northern Virginia in 1969/1970. My back yard was filled with twinkling, flying lights. I'd capture them in a jar and fall asleep watching the glow rise and fade.
I can't remember the last time I saw a firefly that wasn't on TV with Captain Tight Pants!
Without a doubt the one that hit me so hard I shouted and then doubled over as if I'd been punched in the gut was when my girl friend called me one evening in May of 2001 to tell me her neighbor had rushed home from the Gym in Santa Barbara sobbing over the untimely death of Douglas Adams.
I miss him still and every year on May 25th I carry a ratty old bar towel everywhere I go.