It was dark. But it wasn't scary.

Just the same, Rico liked to lean against Papa.

It was quiet here, on the porch of the little weekend house.

Just below the porch was the pond. There, Papa grew lots of tilapia fish.

Suddenly the fireflies came. Hundreds and hundreds of them. It was just too beautiful.

Rico couldn't say a word. Papa was silent too.

A firefly landed on the porch railing. Papa cupped a hand over the firely. "Rico, get a bottle. Quick!" he said.

Rico fetched an empty jam jar from the kitchen. Papa dropped the firefly into the jar. Rico clamped the cover on.

"No, Rico, the firefly will die," Papa said. "Fasten a piece of paper on top. Punch holes in the paper. So the firefly can breathe."

Mama came out on the porch. "Better yet, let it go," she said.

"But Mama," Rico said, "There are many fireflies. One in the bottle won't be missed."

Mama sighed. "Suppose every little boy in Laguna caught a firefly? There wouldn't be any left."

"Tomorrow. I'll let it out tomorrow," Rico promised.

The fireflies darted away. It started to drizzle.

"Time for bed, Papa said. He switched on the porch lamp. Its gentle light spread over the pond."

Rico could see the pond from his bedroom window. He wasn't sleepy…

He sat on the window seat, the bottle in his hands. The firefly blinked its greenish light. The insect was so tiny.

"You are magic," Rico whispered to the firefly. It blinked again.

It was raining a little harder now. The raindrops rippled the water in the pond.

Rico went to bed. He always felt good here in this house. There were so many things he could do. But there was nothing he had to do.

He would watch the farmers in the ricefield, or play with the other boys, or ride his bike. Or he would fish. He knew how to bait his line with earthworms.

If he chose not to do anything, he could just sit on the porch. He would look out to Mount Makiling and dream of climbing it some day.