Naturally Supernatural

     It had been a long time since I last chased fireflies. The moon was bright that night: almost yellow, with its ellipse close to a perfect circle. It seemed to serve as an imitator, giant and unblinking, of the fireflies. The stars were far better at their mimicry, unsurprising for how they must be comprised of pure magic. They were priceless diamonds sown into a rich but dark iridescent fabric; innumerable in the sky, just as the insects in the trees. There must have been thousands, or millions, like someone had thrown glitter at the canvas that was the edge of the forest. They were pinpoints of light against the shadows filling the spaces between the dark wood, lighting the otherwise unlit space. Heat lightning snaked directly overhead. The light was of a colour so pure, white was grimy in comparison. These silent that trees blossomed in mere seconds then died were yet more actors in the show. It was little wonder fireflies may also be said to have trapped lightning rather than flame. There was a particular, yet unidentifiable, wholeness in the air. Perhaps it was the weight possessed by the heat, a substantial enough entity that it must have been matter. Or maybe it was the insect song that filled the air, punctuated by the occasional frog’s chirp or bird’s call reminding me of the bountiful life around me, and that I was part of it all, part of creation. I halted in my running, the overgrown grass scratching my bare legs, and stared, transfixed. I couldn’t stop a low whisper from escaping my mouth, “It’s beautiful.” And in that instant, I knew, without a single doubt, that if I walked to the forest’s edge, right then, before it stripped itself of its floating jewels, I would walk right through a portal to another world.