When the sun slipped low, the far corner of the yard filled up with dark. It pooled under the big lilac bush, thick and blue, and Sam stood at the edge of it with his feet very still in the cool grass.
Dad had said the fireflies liked that corner best. "Wait for the first one," he told him, "and watch how it wakes up." But the dark under the lilac looked deep, deeper than the rest of the evening, and Sam did not want to walk into it.
He took one step and stopped. The dark did not gobble him up. He took another, and the cool of the shadow touched his arms. Then a little wobble came into his knees, and he hurried back to the warm patch of grass, holding his breath.
"That's alright," said Dad softly. "You can try again."
So Sam tried again. One step. Two steps. The lilac leaves whispered above him. His hands were tight little fists. On the third try he went all the way in, right into the deepest part of the dark, and stood as still as a small stone.
And there — a tiny spark. Just above the grass, a green-gold light blinked on, then off, then on again, like a slow little wink. Sam stayed very still. Another one lit up, and another, until the deep dark corner was full of soft floating lights, rising and falling.
Sam smiled a slow, secret smile. The scary corner wasn't scary at all. It was where the fireflies kept their light.
"You found them," Dad whispered. Sam nodded, watching the sparks drift up past the lilac like tiny drowsy lanterns.
One by one the lights blinked slower. Sam yawned a wide yawn. Dad scooped him up, and his head settled warm on Dad's shoulder as they walked back toward the yellow window.
Behind them the fireflies rose and dimmed, rose and dimmed, glowing softly in the deep blue dark, keeping their little lights on until morning.