The Mayfly Years

Written by Iris Zhu from California, USA

Beyond the elderberry bushes, across from the old gymnasium at the elementary school, lies a small creek that runs beneath bowed willows and moss-covered boulders. We didn’t know where it flowed from nor where it led to, but the little stream became a gathering place for the second graders every recess. We would abandon our sock-stuffed shoes at the shore, splashing ankle deep until soft pebbles pillowed our feet, to wonder at the fleeting minnows and occasional red-eared slider that swam easily through the translucent waters.

On especially hot days, the sunlight bounced off the playful ripples, illuminating swarms of mayflies that rested gently above the surface of the water. These were icky little creatures, black clouds of zig-zagging dots that darted across the creek, light as air. I’ve always hated bugs - worms, maggots, and mayflies alike, so I was secretly pleased to learn that they did not survive for very long.

The adult mayfly has a lifespan of roughly twenty-four hours. They hatch at the bottom of lakes and rivers, and in youth spend most of their time swimming up, up, and up towards the surface. When daylight strikes the horizon and the world stirs lazily in its sleep, it emerges from the depths and blinks wearily into the morning sun. Is it aware that the clock of its life has already begun its incessant ticking? When dusk falls at the end of the evening, the mayfly, with a belly full of wet algae, will die. 

Its entire life is a fragile heartbeat in the scale of ours, and we may look at these minuscule creatures and pity their brevity. After all, in terms of mayfly years, we are creatures of eternity. Perspective is funny in this way, because truth be told, we aren’t here for that long either. The snow-capped mountains themselves may look down at us from their ancient heights and astonish at our brevity. To the universe, we are nothing more than mayflies.

The point is, we too are transient. Often, we don’t realize the sunset until darkness envelops the skyline. Looking back at the little girl playing in the pond feels like I’m peering through the discolored lenses of an old film camera. Yet, the mayfly, despite its short life, lives fully. It plants its eggs on the ocean floor, leaving a subtle but powerful mark before it disembarks from the world. 

Live your life in mayfly years – not as if every day is your last, but as if you only have one.