(Continued from yesterday's entry "The firefly night")
My sister and I wandered around in the night, sometimes hand in hand. My mother dragged behind, somewhat breathlessly, as I and my sister were walking fast.
It was quite a while before we could get any signs of fireflies. Suddenly, there was a cry. "Look, there goes the firefly!" We dashed on, but could not really observe the light hindered by the walls of people's backs.
Then a little boy came along, with an insect cage hanging from his hand. Lights could be seen going on and off in it. There were fireflies! "Where did you capture these things?" My mother ventured to ask. "Just there, over in the forest!" The boy's caretaker answered.
"Into the forest!" I cried, and I went off in that direction, with the equally excited sister. We looked around and around, but there were no signs of fireflies. Perhaps the had all gone to bed by now.
But then, as if in a miracle, there, in the grass near a big tree, was a flickering and vibrant light. We found the firefly! We made the encounter at last!
Strangely, by this time, the zeal to capture the insect and take it home was gone. I and sister lingered on to watch the fireflies without bothering to capture them. The night breeze was cool and pleasant. And then, gradually, we made friends with the darkness itself. The fireflies did not matter any more.
In a tranquil mood, we went home and slept.