Afraid of the dark? ‘Night Magic’ helps us reimagine darkness

Nature writer Leigh Ann Henion opens her sweet, wise “Night Magic” with a haunting story. A child lost in the woods overnight is found “curled like a baby rabbit among leaf litter.” Before picking him up, his rescuer kneels next to him and gently asks what he heard and felt overnight, then explains to him what those things were, thus replacing nebulous terrors with practical explanations likely to head off lasting trauma.

Fear of the dark is deeply ingrained in us. In our cultures, art and literature, darkness stands for the unknown at best, evil at worst. We are repelled by dark shadows, the Dark Ages, the darkness on the edge of town, the dark arts, princes of darkness. We fear wild animals when the sun sets, so we install garish floodlights on our properties.

And so Henion’s book, which seeks to “break the spell” of fear of the dark, is a revelation, a series of captivating field trips illuminating life in the wild at night. Under the moon and stars, owls hoot and hunt; bats swoop at mosquitoes; glowing salamanders scurry; bioluminescent fungi, moths, fireflies and glowworms put on astounding shows; gardens creep up under the moon, and we humans lift our weary eyes to the stars, then rest and heal. At night, all the light we cannot see by day and by training emerges, and suddenly, after allowing our eyes and senses to adjust to the dark, we see glorious, beautiful night sights.

“Night Magic” first celebrates the beauty and balm that daily darkness offers us. It flips the words “darkness visible,” long linked with evil and depression, so they represent a quest to see and understand the workings of nature in the dark.

The book then gently warns us of the damage and dangers that arise when natural cycles of light and dark are sabotaged. Even one brightly lighted town block will drive away owls, confuse and diminish fireflies, and disrupt the night journeys of migratory birds. Henion also reminds of our complicated evolutionary relationship with darkness, and of how it has been disrupted by modern life, with its glaring headlights and glowing cities.

She does not hold back from warning us that exploding development confuses and kills the wildlife we need to maintain healthy biomes. “Whole ecosystems are disintegrating in our backyards while we’re worrying about the melting of far-off glaciers,” she laments.

But Henion also teaches us how we can head off such unnecessary tragedy: “May we find our way back to natural darkness, or at least hold fast to the wilderness that still exists, so that we’ll be able to bear witness to night’s living riches.”

You’re likely to come away from “Night Magic” not demoralized but educated and inspired. It’s heavy on science but equally rich on poetry — Henion writes often of human responses to night darkness that allow us to recognize and reconsider it, and to embrace its tranquility and beauty.

If every reader of this book is moved to simply turn off outdoor lights when they’re not needed, preserve brushy habitat for fireflies, install a bat house or even just walk down a moonlit gravel road, taking in the sights, scents and sounds of the night, much will have been accomplished.

Magic, indeed.

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