Catch and Release
There was a moment every summer night, somewhere between dinner and bedtime, when the world shifted. The sun dipped low behind the cornfield, and the sky turned lavender at the edges. And then, slowly, they began to appear.
Lightnin’ bugs.
It always felt like they came out of nowhere. One minute, the yard was empty. The next, it sparkled.
We’d been waiting for them all evening. There was something about the first lightnin’ bugs of the season that made everything feel official. Summer was here. The kind of summer that smelled like cut grass and hose water. That left dirt in the creases of your knees and pink around your shoulders.
We chased them barefoot, laughing, jars in our hands. Sometimes it was old mason jars with holes punched in the lids. Sometimes it was a peanut butter jar someone rinsed out. It didn’t matter, only that we caught them gently. No squishing. Just soft hands and quick feet.
There was a rhythm to it. You had to watch for the blink, the way it hovered, warm and golden, and then move smooth. Too fast and you’d miss. Too slow and they were gone again, just shadows in the air.
Some nights we kept them for a little while. Set them on the porch rail and watched the jar glow like it held a secret. Other nights we let them go right away, unscrewing the lid and watching them float back out into the dusk.
I didn’t care how or why they lit up. I just knew it felt like magic. A little flicker of joy that belonged to us, just for the evening. Something that made the world feel full and kind and old in the best way.
No one told us when to come back inside. We just knew. When the grass got too cold.When the jar stopped blinking. When the stars came out brighter than the bugs. That’s when we’d wander in, legs scratched, feet damp, hearts full.
I don’t chase lightnin’ bugs anymore. But when I see one now, rising up from the yard in the warm dark, something inside me pauses. I remember the jar in my hand. The laughter. The quiet. The sweet hush of being outside and not quite ready for bed.
That hour, between dusk and the dark, still feels like magic.
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