I am in a city in the tropics, standing at the edge of a café’s outdoor patio overlooking the ocean.

  Dusk falls and the sky turns a rich, vibrant purple. Small, paler purple lights fill the air, leaving wispy trails behind them as they move like fireflies. Looking up, it’s as if the very stars are in motion. They’re lower down too, all around me. Unlike fireflies, there’s no creature at the core of the lights.

  I’m enchanted by them for a time, reaching out to touch them without success. Eventually, I pull out my phone to record the lights to send to my brothers and friends. They show up shockingly well on video. This sight can’t be found anywhere else in the world.

  Amused by my obvious tourist antics and awe at something that is everyday for her, the proprietress tells me that the locals call the lights “the weary old men.”