The Little Professor of Light

Every evening, just as the last bit of sunlight slipped behind the trees, an old firefly would climb to the highest blade of grass.

He wasn’t the brightest firefly anymore.

His flashes weren’t perfectly timed.

Sometimes he forgot where he had been flying.

But every evening, without fail, he climbed that blade of grass and looked out over the meadow.

One summer night a young firefly landed beside him.

“Sir?” the youngster asked.

“Yes?”

“Why do we blink?”

The old firefly smiled.

“I don’t know.”

The youngster looked disappointed.

“I thought you were the oldest firefly here.”

“I am.”

“And you don’t know?”

“No.”

The little firefly sat quietly.

After a while the old one spoke again.

“But I know a better question.”

The youngster tilted his tiny head.

“Instead of asking why we blink…ask what happens when we do.”

Just then another light answered from across the meadow.

Then another.

Then another.

Soon hundreds of tiny lanterns floated through the darkness.

The meadow wasn’t bright because one firefly was extraordinary.

It was bright because each one shared the little light it had.

The youngster watched in amazement.

“So…”

“So,” said the old firefly, “perhaps our job isn’t to understand everything before we shine.”

They sat together for a long time.

Finally the youngster whispered, “Do you think the humans notice us?”

The old firefly chuckled.

“Oh, my dear…there’s a lady traveling around the country who practically squeals every time she sees us.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.”

“Does she know why we blink?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why does she keep coming back?”

The old firefly looked up at the stars.

“Because she’s curious.”

He watched another tiny green light drift into the darkness.

“Never underestimate a curious heart. It can light up places no lantern ever could.”

Far away, sitting quietly outside a tent, a woman smiled as another tiny green light floated by.

She didn’t know all the answers.

She didn’t need to.

Tonight, it was enough to notice.

And somewhere in the meadow, the old firefly smiled too.

“Good,” he whispered.

“She asked another question.”

And with that, the meadow began to sparkle again.