turn on your heartlight

Let’s walk the quarter-mile in the darkness, without flashlights, the guide says. We have just watched a few slides on lightning bugs (they’re beetles, really), and now we’re going to see the real thing, or what’s left of the dwindling species since the urban sprawl and light pollution have reduced their habitat and desire.

We’re a small group, about 30, with a surprising number of small children for 9 p.m. on a Friday. I’m with my brother and nephew, 6, for whom the nature center itself is tailor-made. He knows every part of the A-frame lodge and its hands-on displays: "Talking About Turtles” reads one sign above an old aquarium. “Speaking of Snakes” is another favorite area. He parades around with a beaver pelt, pets an old raccoon skin and brings it close to me, just in case I missed it.

He holds a mini-flashlight with a compass as we make our way to the trail. He can’t keep his hands off it – he likes to shine it through his windbreaker, his hands, making designs on the floor. But for the quarter-mile walk, he has to resist the urge to light up the path. There’s no need -- we can see just far enough ahead, and we feel like explorers as we enjoy the mild weather and lovely night.

When we come to the clearing and step out from under the canopy of trees, the group is suddenly quiet. It’s as if we walked into a chapel. Above the tall prairie grasses the fireflies twinkle and shine. Off in the distance, in the far stand of trees, they are glittering. We watch an enchanted wood. It’s unexpectedly beautiful and moving, a perfect moment.

He feels it too, reaches out to grab my hand and his dad’s. We whisper about what we’re seeing, realize it’s okay to talk out loud and point out different signals from the bugs. He unclasps my hand but moves his over my wrist, up my forearm -- loosely connected but considering independence.

He wishes he brought a net or a jar, something to capture them all. You can’t hold them for long, though. The magic takes place when they are free to call across the field to one another, when you can watch from a distance and admire what makes them special.

You can’t stand in the clearing forever, either. The fireflies will flicker all night, the guide tell us, but we have to go back, back to the deadlines and the crowds and the to-do lists … away from that space on the edge of summer, which you really forgot existed.