Sendero Firefly Hat

Around these parts, we call ’em lightning bugs—those little sparks of summer that dance through the dusk like nature’s own fireworks. As the sun dips low and the air hums with heat, they start to appear, flickering in and out of the shadows like tiny lanterns come to life.

We used to chase them barefoot through the yard, mason jars in hand—grandma’s old ones, with the lids poked full of holes—trying to trap a bit of that fleeting magic. For a few moments, they’d glow in our palms like bottled storms, soft and golden. A flash, a flicker… and then—poof.

Relámpago en una botella! Lightning in a bottle.
Gone before you can hold on too tight. Just a little shimmer of wonder, a reminder that some magic isn’t meant to last—it’s meant to be seen, felt, and let go.