The nights in Grandma’s orchard were usually quiet and peaceful. The distant chirping of crickets, the murmur of the wind through the trees, and the soft creaking of the old Chicago Air Motor windmill created a melody that lulled anyone to sleep. But that night, something was different.

Sofía was the first to notice. Peeking out the window, she saw flickering lights near the windmill, as if a pair of floating eyes were surrounding it. She called to her brother Tomás, and together, they stared in amazement at the figures that seemed to dance in the air.

«It’s a ghost!» Tomás whispered, his eyes wide open.

«What if it’s the spirit of the windmill?» Sofía added, a little scared.

The two of them ran to where Uncle Agustín was playing his guitar under the mulberry tree. Hearing them, he put his instrument aside and frowned with an amused smile.

«A ghost in the mill? I certainly didn’t expect that tonight,» she said as she stood up.

Grandmother, who was coming out with a cup of tea, also heard the story.

«Come on, children. Let’s all see what this mystery is,» she suggested calmly.

Together they walked with lanterns toward the mill, which creaked softly with each gust of wind. The lights were still there, moving as if dancing to the rhythm of the air. But as they got a little closer, Uncle Augustine burst out laughing.

«It’s not a ghost, children! They’re fireflies!»

«Fireflies?» asked Sofia, approaching curiously.

«That’s right,» Grandmother confirmed. «A whole family, it seems. And look how they fly, as if drawing shapes in the air!»

The children watched, spellbound. The tiny lights joined together in circles, spirals, and shapes that at times resembled a smiling face, a star, or even the outline of the windmill itself.

«That’s why we thought it was a ghost!» exclaimed Tomas. «How incredible!»

Uncle Augustine crouched down beside them and murmured,

«Fireflies have a special language with their lights. Sometimes they use it to communicate with each other. Maybe this family is celebrating something.»

«What if we do something to protect them?» suggested Sofia. «I don’t want anyone to scare them or try to lure them away from the windmill.»

Grandma smiled tenderly.

«That’s a wonderful idea. We could put up a sign that says: ‘Home of fireflies. Do not disturb.'»

And so they did. The children, with Uncle Augustine’s help, painted a small sign that they placed next to the base of the windmill. They also looked in Grandma’s old books for information on how to care for these insects.

The next day, when the sun rose, the children carefully explored the garden, discovering tiny fireflies still dormant on the leaves and trunks. They prepared small spaces for them with shade, water, and flowers to make them feel comfortable.

From that night on, the dancing lights became a nightly spectacle in the garden. The children invited their friends, who came with blankets to sit and watch the firefly ballet under the stars. It became a tradition to listen to stories told by Grandma while Uncle Agustín played his guitar to the rhythm of the wind.

And the old mill, instead of being a mysterious place, became the most magical corner of the garden.

Because, as Uncle Agustín said, «Sometimes ghosts aren’t scary. They’re just made of light and little wings that want to tell a bright story.»

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