Small light

It is beyond dusk,
the fishing boats dot the dark with light,
the waning moon in hidden by long awaited rain clouds
percolating.
I am sniffing my way through up the woodland path
home,
fully feral after days of sea
and tangled
matted hair.

Gate closed,
step one,
then two,
and there it is;
the miracle
of light.
A phosphorescent pulse,
proof that childhood fairies live.

I squat
and watch
silent
still,
see the two stripes
the bumps
that could be
antennae
or horns
or ears.
I watch as you
luminous,
numinous
halo,
turn away and dim
then back towards me
bringing
your light,
illuminating
my gentle
nearby finger.

Blessed
I know I am in the presence of magic
and settle
awed in its presence.

I climb through the woodland path
to announce the enchantment
to an animated circle of teens
from whom I expect shrugs and tolerant half smiles of insouciance,
but instead
they push back their chairs
ignite their phone torches
and gallop ahead of me.

I worry their technology will outshine it,
that their feet
will flatten it,
but instead,
albeit
for a brief moment,
they gather and gasp
at this one solitary
light,
Ooos and Aahs
at the wonder of it
fill the air,
then the spell is broken
and they stampede noisily back
leaving the younger children
to stand and stare.

Later,
alone again,
just light and me,
in the dark,
I send a prayer
that
we
with big feet
and loud phones
can quiet our noise and business enough
to be amazed,
to step gently
carefully
toward small miracles,
that this lonely fire fly
may proliferate
once more
so
grandchildren’s
grandchildren
can stand
transfixed
and wondering at the
enchantment
of our shared world.

If you enjoyed reading this please share it with friends. You might also be interested in talking to me about coaching , or maybe try some of my online courses (some are free), or treat yourself to a climate protecting pamper with vegan friendly, organic Tropic which supports the planting of forests and education in deprived areas.
Thanks for being here.
Julie