One of the simple things I looked forward to experiencing again when I went to Arkansas was the fireflies.  I cannot remember seeing one in well over 20 years, perhaps even 30 or more.  So the thought of seeing the night lit with the blinking of natural night lights brought in me a girlish joy.

Fortunately, my little grandaughters were fully game to go firefly hunting with their Nona on my first night there.  After supper, Talitha supplied us with a mason jar, and out I went, into the dusk, with a trail of 4 little girls behind me. First we had to let Nona's old eyes adjust to the graying light, and open my peripheral vision to spot them.

"Where are they, girls?"  I called.  Within moments, the first cries went up.

"Over here, Nona!" Jerusalem shrieked.

"Over here! Over here!" shrieked Isabel, and they began jumping after them. 

Ani, quickly chimed in as well, and all three were going in different directions, with little Evi trying to keep up with us all.  Shrieking and laughing and chasing all around the mowed field, we collected the haplessly slow flying lights.  Of course every time we tried to open the jar, we'd lose one or two, so I tried to have at least 3 or 4 in my hand before attempting to put them in the jar. 

After awhile we went back inside, where Grandma Lourie put holes in the lid.  The children all crowded around the jar, taking turns holding it up and watching for the bugs to light.

That night the girls asked for the jar to be in their room... nature's nightlight.  I smiled, knowing that at my age, evenings of catching fireflies are very numbered.  And I thanked God for the joy He's provided through His remarkable creation.