Fireflies in the Mango Grove

It is a warm summer night. We walk slowly into the old mango grove. The grass is soft under our feet. The air feels warm, like a gentle hug.

The trees are tall and dark. Their leaves rustle... shhh... shhh. Above them, the sky is full of quiet stars.

We sit on a soft mat under the biggest tree. We lean back on its wide trunk. The grove is very dark. We wait.

Listen... A cricket sings, cheer... cheer. A frog calls from the pond, croak... croak. Far away, an owl hoots once, then goes quiet.

Then... look! A tiny light. It blinks on... and off. One.

We sit very still, so it feels safe. Blink... two. Another light glows by a low branch. Blink... three. One more, over the grass.

One more little light... glowing just for us.

Four... five... They float up slowly, like tiny lamps. Six... near our feet. Seven... by the old well.

The grove is waking up softly. The lights drift and dance. Green and gold, soft and warm. Eight... nine... ten. They twinkle between the leaves, like stars that came down to play.

One more little light... glowing just for us.

Now we stop counting. There are too many to count! The whole grove is glowing. The trees look dressed up in tiny lights, like on Diwali night.

A warm breeze moves through the leaves. The fireflies bob and sway with it. They do not rush. They do not shout. They only glow, quietly and happily.

We feel joy rising inside, slow and warm. A small, soft smile comes to our face. Such a simple thing... and so beautiful.

One firefly floats close. It rests on our hand for a moment. So light! We can hardly feel it. Blink... blink... Then it floats away to join the others.

One more little light... glowing just for us.

Our eyes feel heavy now. The crickets sing more softly. The lights grow dim and dreamy. We breathe in the warm night air... and out. The grove holds us, safe and quiet. And the little lights keep glowing as we drift off to sleep.