Speaker 1: Welcome to Bedtime Stories for grown ups, in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: I'm Catherine Nikolay. I write and read all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear a nothing Much happens with audio engineering by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. Bob and I are heading out on our
Speaker 1: summer vacations this week, so we are revisiting one of
Speaker 1: my all time favorite stories and a beautiful summer story.
Speaker 1: We'll have a brand new episode for you next week. Now,
Speaker 1: let me tell you a little about how to use
Speaker 1: this podcast. I have a tried and true method for
Speaker 1: quieting down your brain uneasy you into sleep. I'll tell
Speaker 1: you a bedtime story. It's simple and soothing, and I'll
Speaker 1: tell it twice, going a little slower on the second
Speaker 1: read through. All you have to do is listen, let
Speaker 1: your mind follow along with the shape of the story
Speaker 1: and the sound of my voice, and before you know it,
Speaker 1: you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling rested and ready for
Speaker 1: another day. If you wake in the middle of the night,
Speaker 1: you can listen again or just think back through any
Speaker 1: bits of the story that you can remember. Now turn
Speaker 1: off your light, no more screens, Slide down into your
Speaker 1: sheets and get as comfortable as you can. Arrange your
Speaker 1: body into your favorite sleeping position. Take a slow, deep
Speaker 1: breath in through the nose and out through the mouth.
Speaker 1: Do that one more time. Breathe in and out. Good.
Speaker 1: Our story tonight is called Fireflies on a Summer Night,
Speaker 1: and it's a story about the magic language of lightning bugs.
Speaker 1: It's also about the cool, quiet feeling of being all
Speaker 1: by yourself in the moonlight, words that start with the
Speaker 1: letter G, and a persistent, enduring belief in magic. Fireflies
Speaker 1: on a Summer night. Children are born believing in magic.
Speaker 1: As a child, I persisted in believing. Adults tried to
Speaker 1: tell me that it wasn't real, that it was only
Speaker 1: something that happened in stories, But to me, there were
Speaker 1: so many signs of it everywhere that it seemed like
Speaker 1: they were only trying to convince themselves. After all. What
Speaker 1: about when you slipped your finger into the coin return
Speaker 1: on a pay phone and found a quarter? What about
Speaker 1: when you opened a book to just the right page
Speaker 1: and your eyes fell on just the right word or drawing.
Speaker 1: What about when you found a stone that fit into
Speaker 1: your palm and hugged exactly around the curve of your thumb.
Speaker 1: And if magic isn't real, then what about fireflies? I
Speaker 1: would wait for them on summer nights, watching from the
Speaker 1: steps of the back deck or my bedroom window, And
Speaker 1: when they came, I thought they might be coming for me.
Speaker 1: Could we speak to each other, them in their language
Speaker 1: of slow blinking glimmers, me and mine of quiet wonder.
Speaker 1: I'd step out in dewy grass and watch and wait.
Speaker 1: I never tried to seal them into jars, knowing even
Speaker 1: then that nobody likes to be boxed in. Instead, I
Speaker 1: might reach out a hand and see if anyone wanted
Speaker 1: to rest on it for a moment, And when one did,
Speaker 1: when they stayed and blinked at me for a minute
Speaker 1: or so, I would wonder, how is this not magic?
Speaker 1: I guess I still persist in believing, even now that
Speaker 1: I am all grown up, I still see it everywhere.
Speaker 1: What about when you're walking on the sidewalk and you
Speaker 1: catch the eye of a stranger riding on a bus,
Speaker 1: and you both hold on to each other for as
Speaker 1: long as you're in sight. What about when you step
Speaker 1: into your favorite cafe on a blustery, chill day and
Speaker 1: find there's just one plate left of exactly what you
Speaker 1: are craving. What about when you learn that the iron
Speaker 1: in your blood was borne in the belly of a
Speaker 1: star before the earth even was And you ever jumped
Speaker 1: into a lake on a hot summer day, and while
Speaker 1: you're completely surrounded by water, forgotten every other moment of
Speaker 1: your life. Go on, keep telling me how magic just
Speaker 1: happens in books. Tonight was just the sort of evening
Speaker 1: that fireflies would be thick in the trees. I thought
Speaker 1: I might go looking for them. I slipped sandals onto
Speaker 1: my bare feet and quietly closed the door behind me.
Speaker 1: Where should I look for them? In the garden, in
Speaker 1: the cluster of trees behind the shed. No, in the park, tonight,
Speaker 1: they'll be in the park. I strode down the driveway,
Speaker 1: the air still hot from the day, and slipped down
Speaker 1: the street. Some houses had lights on inside the top
Speaker 1: of a head, and the edge of a book visible
Speaker 1: under the glow of a reading lamp. Some were quiet
Speaker 1: and dark, every one already abed. Days in the sun
Speaker 1: always meant good sleep. And a few had porches with
Speaker 1: dogs lying on the warm wooden boards. A neighbor or
Speaker 1: two sitting on a swing enjoying the night air. I
Speaker 1: raised a hand, answering the low calls of evening in
Speaker 1: the park. I circled slowly through the paths, smiled at
Speaker 1: an older lady sitting with her gray faced dog on
Speaker 1: a bench, gave some privacy to a couple cuddled up
Speaker 1: by the fountain, and made my way toward the edge
Speaker 1: of the pond. There was a tiny pier stretching out
Speaker 1: into water, and I padded down it to the bench
Speaker 1: at the very end. The air was thick with a
Speaker 1: sound of frogs and night breezes, and insects puzzing. On
Speaker 1: the other side of the lake. I saw them lighting
Speaker 1: up around the stems of hastas and flashing in front
Speaker 1: of the trunks of tall maples. I stood up and
Speaker 1: walked to the railing, leaning my elbows on the wooden parapet.
Speaker 1: They glowed, they glimmered. Have you ever noticed how many
Speaker 1: very nice words for describing what light can do start
Speaker 1: with g l glint, glimmer, gleam, gloss, glisten, glaze, and
Speaker 1: maybe the best gloaming. It was well past the gloaming,
Speaker 1: now full dark was around me. I put my chin
Speaker 1: in my hand and just watched them I'd heard once
Speaker 1: that there are mile long stretches on the nile where
Speaker 1: the fireflies all blink in unison. Can you imagine how
Speaker 1: bright and how dark, and how much like language that
Speaker 1: must feel. They called that emergence, when order emerges from chaos.
Speaker 1: Maybe it was just another way to say magic. After
Speaker 1: a while, I made my way back down the wooden
Speaker 1: planks of the pier, back past the fountain, past the
Speaker 1: circle paths and benches, and back down the streets of
Speaker 1: my neighborhood. In a neighbor's yard, I saw the flame
Speaker 1: of a bonfire, a circle of chairs pulled up, and
Speaker 1: friends laughing and telling stories. On another night I might
Speaker 1: have joined them, But tonight I was happy to be alone,
Speaker 1: to listen smilingly to their voices, and make my way
Speaker 1: to my own quiet house. I closed the front gate
Speaker 1: behind me and sat a moment on my front porch.
Speaker 1: The night sky was clear and full of stars and
Speaker 1: the visible glow of Mars. I knew Mars would set
Speaker 1: an hour after midnight, and soon after Jupiter and Saturn
Speaker 1: would rise. Then on the cusp of dawn, being As
Speaker 1: would shine, and faintly behind her would be Mercury. They
Speaker 1: could set and rise without me. I thought of the
Speaker 1: softness of my sheets, my pillow, cool and sweet scented
Speaker 1: from the moving night air, and I made my way inside.
Speaker 1: I turned the lock on the door and took a slow,
Speaker 1: deep breath. Next would be sleep and dreaming more magic
Speaker 1: fireflies on a summer night. Children are born believing in magic.
Speaker 1: As a child, I persisted in believing. Adults tried to
Speaker 1: tell me that it wasn't real, that it was only
Speaker 1: something that happened in stories, But to me, there were
Speaker 1: so many signs of it everywhere that it seemed like
Speaker 1: they were only trying to convince themselves. After all, what
Speaker 1: about when you slipped your finger into the coin return
Speaker 1: on a pay phone and found a quarter? What about
Speaker 1: when you opened a book to just the right page
Speaker 1: and your eyes fell on just the right word or drawing.
Speaker 1: What about when you found a stone that fit into
Speaker 1: your palm and hugged exactly around the curve of your thumb.
Speaker 1: And if magic isn't real, then what about fireflies. I
Speaker 1: would wait for them on summer nights, watching from the
Speaker 1: steps of the back deck or my bedroom window, and
Speaker 1: when they came, I thought they might be coming for me.
Speaker 1: Could we speak to each other, them in their language
Speaker 1: of slow blinking glimmers, me and mine of quiet wonder.
Speaker 1: I'd step out in dewy grass and watch and wait.
Speaker 1: I never tried to seal them into jars, knowing even
Speaker 1: then that nobody likes to be boxed in. Instead, I
Speaker 1: might reach out a hand and see if any one
Speaker 1: wanted to rest on it for a moment, And when
Speaker 1: one did, when they stayed and blinked at me for
Speaker 1: a minute or so, I would wonder, how is this
Speaker 1: not magic? I guess I still persist in believing, even
Speaker 1: now that I'm all grown up, I still see it everywhere.
Speaker 1: What about when you're walking on the sidewalk and catch
Speaker 1: the eye of a stranger riding on a bus, and
Speaker 1: you both hold on to each other for as long
Speaker 1: as you're in sight. What about when you step into
Speaker 1: your favorite cafe on a blustery, chill day and find
Speaker 1: there's just one plate left of exactly what you are craving.
Speaker 1: What about when you learn that the iron in your
Speaker 1: blood was borne in the belly of a star before
Speaker 1: the earth even was. And have you ever jumped into
Speaker 1: a lake on a hot summer day, and while you're
Speaker 1: completely surrounded by water, forgotten every other moment of your life.
Speaker 1: Go on, keep telling me how magic just happens in books.
Speaker 1: Tonight was just the sort of evening that fireflies would
Speaker 1: be thick in the trees. But I thought I might
Speaker 1: go looking for them. I slipped sandals on to my
Speaker 1: bare feet and quietly closed the door behind me. Where
Speaker 1: should I for them? In the garden, in the cluster
Speaker 1: of trees behind the shed. No, in the park tonight,
Speaker 1: they'll be in the park. I strode down the driveway,
Speaker 1: the air still hot from the day, and slipped down
Speaker 1: the street. Some houses had lights on inside, the top
Speaker 1: of a head and the edge of a book visible
Speaker 1: under the glow of a reading lamp. Some were quiet
Speaker 1: and dark, everyone already abed. Days in the sun always
Speaker 1: meant good sleep. And a few head porches with dogs
Speaker 1: lying on the warm wooden boards. A neighbor or two
Speaker 1: sitting on a swing, enjoying the night air. I raised
Speaker 1: a hand, answering the low calls of evening in the park.
Speaker 1: I circled slowly through the paths, smiled at an older
Speaker 1: lady sitting with her gray faced dog on a bench.
Speaker 1: Gave some privacy to a couple cuddled up by the
Speaker 1: fountain and made my way toward the edge of the pond.
Speaker 1: There was a tiny pier stretching out into water, and
Speaker 1: I padded down it to the bench at the very end.
Speaker 1: The air was thick of the sound of frogs and
Speaker 1: night breezes and insect's buzzing. On the other side of
Speaker 1: the lake, I saw them lighting up around the stems
Speaker 1: of hostas and flashing in front of the trunks of
Speaker 1: tall maples. I stood up and walked to the railing,
Speaker 1: leaning my elbows on the wooden parapet. They glowed, they glimmered.
Speaker 1: Have you ever noticed how many very nice words for
Speaker 1: dis gribing what light can do start with g l glint, glimmer, gleam, gloss, glisten, glaze,
Speaker 1: and maybe the best one, gloaming. It was well past
Speaker 1: the gloaming, now full dark was around me. I put
Speaker 1: my chin in my hand and just watched them. I'd
Speaker 1: heard once that there are mile long stretches on the
Speaker 1: nile where the fireflies all blink in unison. Can you
Speaker 1: imagine how bright and then how dark, and how much
Speaker 1: like language that must feel. They called that emergence, when
Speaker 1: order emerges from chaos. Maybe it was just another way,
Speaker 1: the same magic. After a while, I made my way
Speaker 1: back down the wooden planks of the pier, back past
Speaker 1: the fountain, past the circle paths and benches, and back
Speaker 1: down the streets of my neighborhood. In a neighbor's yard,
Speaker 1: I saw the flames of a bonfire, a circle of
Speaker 1: chairs pulled up, and friends laughing and telling stories. On
Speaker 1: another night I might have joined them, But to night
Speaker 1: I was happy to be alone, to listen smilingly to
Speaker 1: their voices, and make my way to my own quiet house.
Speaker 1: I closed the front gate behind me and sat a
Speaker 1: moment on my front porch. The night sky was clear
Speaker 1: and full of stars and the visible glow of Mars.
Speaker 1: I knew Mars would set an hour after midnight, and
Speaker 1: soon after Jupiter and Saturn would rise. Then on the
Speaker 1: cusp of dawn, Venus would shine, and faintly behind her
Speaker 1: would be Mercury. They could set and rise without me.
Speaker 1: I thought of the softness of my sheets, my pillow,
Speaker 1: cool and sweet scented from the moving night air, and
Speaker 1: I stood and made my way inside. I turned the
Speaker 1: lock on my door and took a slow, deep breath.
Speaker 1: Next would be sleep and dreaming more magic, Sweet dreams.