Thunder was rumbling in the background. Local radar showed a swath of red getting closer by the minute. The light was quickly diminishing. There I was, turned about on a section of mountain bike trail that winded around so precariously it was difficult to tell which way was up. As my bike tires rolled between tree roots, loose rocks and pine needles, I felt water droplets hit my face as they began to rocket through the forest canopy. I was finally shooting down hill, the cool air rushing around my body, the front suspension jiggling as it compressed over the force of large rocks and expanded into the shallow pools in the ground turning a brain shaking rough ride into a barrably teeth rattling descent.
That's when I noticed it... the lightning bugs started glowing in unison. It was one of the most beautiful displays I've seen as millions of little yellow-green flickers of light created a runway, directing me safely down the hill, guiding me back to the trailhead. Thank you little bugs. Thank you for the light, for the direction, for the warmth in a forest of darkness and cold when everything feels so far away.
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