I sat on our porch tonight, and listened.

The wind picked up, and set off the gentle music of my wind chime. Birds added their song, trees rustled in the breeze, cars passed by up the street with a low whoosh of tires. In the distance, a train whistle rose and fell, followed by rhythmic clacking along the tracks.

As the light faded, I watched the fairy lights strung in our porch ceiling start to glow and fade, glow and fade, like fireflies.

And then I saw the real thing, one lone lightning bug floating above the lavender.

It was my second sighting this week.

Last night, on a different porch, I got to hang out with some of my favorite people, also known as my book group.

The company, as always, was wonderful.

As the evening ended, I saw a flash of yellow in the front yard, and then another, and another. Lightning bugs!

We all stopped, and looked, downright giddy. 

In that moment, we were not a bunch of women discussing books, and life. 

We were a bunch of little kids, soaking in a bit of June magic.

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Here's a new word for you (and me): "psithurism: a rustling or whispering sound, such as leaves in the wind."

That's from Dictionary.com. You won't find it in Merriam-Webster's online dictionary, although it does make an appearance in the company's podcast, Word Matters. 

It's deemed obscure, but pretty.