As the silver of the moon hit the trail, it ricocheted gently off everything it touched. The hoary orb stealthily claimed the jet skies and the creatures of the night came alive, chanting in unison, catching us in its spell. The beauty of the night held us captive, as though trying to keep us from reaching our destination.

And then the fireflies flickered to life.

The trail we were on was lit by hundreds of shimmering fireflies—the bushes on either side blanketed in bleeps of green and red. And I was reeled back into memories that had remained quiescent for years. Now, seeing the fireflies, en route to a small settlement in Tatopani, Myagdi, a village far away from the city I call home, happy times came flooding back. The green, yellow and red reminded me of younger days and the times I had spent chasing the elusive bugs. And in that sudden encounter in the forests of Myagdi, I realised how much I missed them.

Summer evenings used to sparkle with these little beings, which were often accompanied with a waft of jasmine blooms the breeze brought in. Back then, we lived in Godavari, just a forty-five minute drive away from Kathmandu, where every day seemed like a brand new adventure. I would spend perfectly happy days chasing dragonflies, making tiaras of daffodils, fishing in the nearby creek, performing cartwheels on unkempt fields and conquering the surrounding hills. Yet, it was the nights that I loved the most.

The fireflies fascinated me. Often I would hold them captive and just look at them, as inquisitive as I was, sometimes, for hours on end. It would often times be an old Coke bottle or a re-used pickle jar that would be my captive’s dwelling. The firefly would hover around furiously blinking neon green until the light, slowly at first and then all at once, zapped out. I would then lose interest, of course, and then set it free. Without its flashy light, the lightening bug was just another bug.

But these little buggers brought to life many moonless nights. To me, they were just like the stars above, just a little closer. I would often just sit in our garden, cross-legged on the grass, completely fascinated by their glow. As puny as their presence was, their existence was crucial to me. They brought to life stories I pored over when I was younger—stories of fairies, brownies, pixies, the Faraway Tree, gnomes—where everything was possible. They promised tales of secret magical lands, talking animals, giants even, making me weave stories of my own in the sanctuary of my mind.

Eventually we moved back to the city; back to the chaos. As I entered high school and started making new friends, my little rendezvous took a back seat. They had been replaced by the humdrum of everyday life. I was told I had become too old to be chasing fireflies and fairy tales. And I locked them up. Of course, living in the city didn’t help. You seldom see a firefly in a city already so bright. Their light, it seems to me now, is perhaps meant for the sanctity of the deepest night. And as time wore on, as it happens to so many others, I forgot about the easy charms of childhood.

Yet, this autumn evening, the fireflies did not leave me. The entire way, they lighted the path as we walked hungry, parched and a little lost. The village of Tatopani should have come in view by now; we had been walking for over three hours now and it seemed we had lost our way. Yet, there we were, laughing, running, chasing fireflies—their flickering light, once again momentary portals to a long-lost magical world.

After an hour or so, we finally arrived at the village. We went straight to the natural hot springs to soak our sore feet. The moon dangled in the crisp night sky with scattered stars for company. And as I sat there, bathing in the serenity and soothing my aching, blistered feet, I was grateful for a day of adventure, and memories with friends old and new.

The fireflies and I parted ways, again. But as we did I realised that I had not forgotten them, nor had they me. All I needed was a quick nudge to remember them by. And a promise to always keep an eye on the little magical things in life.