“There used to be more fireflies when I was a little girl,” Mom tells me. “I used to catch them, just like you.” At this she boops my nose. My repurposed Peter Pan peanut butter jar winks neon yellow-green from the fireflies I caught before dinner. When I was really little, Mom used to come with me. Now she lets me go alone. Every night I catch some for my nightlight, and when I wake in the morning they’re gone.