The Gate Stays Open

The way out stands open, and the firefly goes through it into the hedge. Then the ghosts, one at a time, low and teal. Then, because nobody stops her, the girl in the hat.

The naturalist puts down his brush. He picks it up. He puts it down again. Then he goes to the window and watches the green point cross the maze until it is one more light among the lights on the highway.

Lightning bug, he says, to the glass.

He is smiling. You have not seen the top row of his teeth before.

You go out after them. The gravel is loud under your shoes.