These tiny little portable flashlights have fascinated me since my childhood. We had a set of paternal relatives that lived several miles away, close to a set of railway tracks and with wet low lands nearby.
   Back then, we cautiously captured the flying insects, keeping them in glass jars and watching the flickering glowing lights. We always released them before heading home, never thinking of trying to relocate them. I never noted them around our farmyard, perhaps too dry and not as much natural habitat.
   The years we lived on the acreage east of Neepawa it was common to spot, and watch, the fireflies, usually on a humid evening in late June. On the east side of our home was a second floor balcony. One evening, before last rounds, I stepped out on the balcony. I simply stopped and stared. And then I summoned the grandson that was spending time with us that summer. We stood there, surrounded by fireflies.
   They settled on the railing, on the balustrade, on us. Watching the miracle, it seemed a reflection of the Milky Way, so numerous and so twinkling, a band that flitted and sparkled above the dry creek bed. I don’t know how long we stood there, in real time. The saying ‘time stood still’ applied that evening. The silence — even the highway traffic had stilled, the broken darkness, the beauty, we simply stood.
   That moment of beauty took me back to a summer night in 1974. Travelling home from Carman, the announcer on the radio suggested that anyone that could get away from bright lights hasten to do so. The Northern Lights were putting on a quality show. I was away from any lights, miles from home yet miles from the nearest town. I pulled over and stepped out of the vehicle. Now this was Southern Manitoba, near Carman, and the lights were dancing directly above me. These last few seasons we have been blessed with incredible photos of the aurora borealis. That summer night outshone them all. In the perfect silence, one could hear the angels singing as they danced across the night sky.
   The colours were brilliant, they moved, melded, and spun. Hues so intense one could only marvel. That segued to a summer night on a boat dock at Camp Koininea. A night of a meteor shower so stunning that we broke curfew for all who wanted to witness the wonder of falling stars, shooting stars, meteors flashing and reflecting in the still lake water.
   By nature I am a night owl. The quiet of the dark invites me to sit and think a bit. I am ever thankful that my home here in town is close to the tracks, away from too many bright lights. I can step away and again see the wonder of the Northern Lights, the brilliance of the night stars, and every once in a while — the fireflies. It will be on a warm, humid, summer night, and there they are. Waiting for me. And so, as an anticipated guest, I pause and admire. I no longer feel the need or desire to capture them. I simply admire and wonder.