Sunday night, S and I went out to the haunt so that he could show me a shack he had just built for a new set. We headed out just before dusk, drove the truck over to the shack, and climbed onto the roof. We lay back looking at the sky and started talking and reconnecting in a way we haven’t in years. No talk about work, or future plans, or anything stressful. We talked about happy memories of camping as kids and young adults. In the distance, a train would go by periodically with its haunting whistle, making me think warm thoughts about my dad. And as dusk turned to night, we watched the property transform into something magical. The fireflies came out with a display like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I never realized how high they flew, because when we ran around catching them as kids, they were always down low and easy to snare. But they fly around even more in the tops of the tree line than they do in the field, dancing and twinkling and sparkling like something in a Disney movie. And every now and then, a firefly would rise above the tree line and appear to merge with the stars for a brief moment. And it felt like my heart was rising and merging, too. We lay there for over 2 hours, just watching and occasionally commenting, and for the first time in a long time, just being. Magic.