Some of my most treasured childhood memories are the late humid nights in Virginia, where my Brothers and I would run around the back and front yard, catching fireflies.

Our McDonald’s happy meal containers in our hands. Those were the days when happy meals weren’t in a paper bag, but in what more resembled a lunch pail. They were perfect for firefly catching, as the lids came with punched in holes.

We always had a contest to see who could catch the most, and it was the only time where one of our “contests” did not result in an argument or tears. None of us cared. We were happy just being outside and running after those magical little creatures.

I still consider them magical.

Starting in my late teens I noticed that it seemed like there were a hell of a lot less fireflies. Or, on the flip side, was it that everything when you’re a child seems so much more and larger than it really is?

No, no — friends agreed and continue to do so to this day — there are less. Maybe we want to believe this so our joy filled memory reservoir won’t suddenly overflow and be ruined.

But tonight, People, tonight … as The BF, FOH and I were leaving my mother in law’s house, I experienced the ultimate firefly redemption. The entire backyard was lit up with those sparkling green lights.

It took the breath right out of me. I was mesmerized. Stunned. Utterly captivated.

No house lights or street lights to interfere. Just us in the pitch black darkness, being lit up.

I felt like those fireflies were igniting something in me. My magical messengers. Telling me how many wonderful things lie ahead.

I needed this tonight. A good remembrance of the simplistic beauty that surrounds us and that life — in all its glorious forms — is so precious.