The garden slept beneath a silver moon. Isabella crept through the flower beds until she reached the old stone bench near the roses.
She climbed onto the bench and lifted her grandmother's brass magnifying glass toward the sky. Through the glass the stars seemed far too small, but something else caught her eye — a flickering amber dot hovering in the thorny rose bush.
Isabella crept across the warm flagstones and pressed her face close to the rose bush. A tiny firefly was caught in the thorns, its little legs tangled and its soft amber light pulsing weakly.
Her fingers worked gently, brushing against rough bark and sweet-smelling leaves. The thorns pricked at her thumbs, but she did not stop until the firefly's legs slipped free.
The firefly buzzed weakly and drifted toward a dark puddle that reflected the moon like a silver coin. Isabella lifted her open palm and pressed a smooth river stone beside it, creating a safe landing spot.
Croak! A grumpy garden frog splashed water toward her sandals from behind the hydrangeas. Isabella held her breath and tiptoed around the puddle, whispering to the firefly to keep following her shadow.
She carried the firefly all the way to the tallest lavender bush at the garden's edge, where the night air smelled sweet and purple.
Three other fireflies erupted from the lavender like living sparklers, zigzagging through the air in a glowing welcome party.
The little firefly zipped back to Isabella's outstretched finger and tapped it gently with its front legs.
A soft golden shimmer stayed on her skin — pulsing once, twice — then faded into the warm night air.
The fireflies rose together into the sky, disappearing one by one among the stars.
Isabella climbed down from the bench and walked home, her fingertip still warm with the memory of golden light.
