The Lantern at the Bend
The rain stopped all at once. Pia pushed her hood back and stepped onto the wet path. Wisp floated beside her, glowing at the edges. Above them the stars came out, one and one and one. Every leaf held a drop of rain. Every drop held a small piece of starlight. Pia cupped her hands under a low branch and waited. One bright drop rolled off the leaf and landed in her palm. It was warm, and it stayed.
Pia walked slowly so the light would not spill. Wisp drifted ahead and lit the path for her. At the bend hung an old glass lantern, dark and full of rain. Pia stood on her toes and tipped her palm. The drop slid in. Slowly, like something waking up, the lantern filled with gold. "Hold it gently," Pia whispered. "Pass it on." Wisp glowed brighter and said nothing at all. The wet path shone under her boots.
The lantern leaned its light toward the next lantern down the path. That one woke too. Then the next, and the next, all the way into the trees. The forest turned soft and gold. Pia counted the lanterns until she lost count. The moss steamed a little where the light touched it. Wisp spun once, slow and happy. Somewhere behind them, water dripped from branch to branch, like something small walking home.
A snail came out of the wet leaves with a shining shell. Pia knelt down in the moss to see. She let the lantern light slide along the curve of the shell. The snail carried it away, slow as a slow song, over the stones to a bed of moss. The moss took the light and held it. Little green stars came up under the ferns. Pia watched with her chin on her knees and did not hurry it.
A moth landed in the glowing moss and opened its wings. The light climbed on. Up it went, a pale flutter, to a spider's web strung between two branches. Every rain bead on the web lit at once. The web hung there like a small round window made of water. Wisp floated close and glowed brighter. Pia held her breath so the web would stay still. For a moment the whole forest seemed to hold its breath too.
Then the branch shook, and the beads fell. Each one carried a spark down into the ferns. The ferns lit from the bottom up, like candles standing in rows. Pia walked through them with her arms out wide. The light touched her sleeves and her hair and the backs of her hands. "Hold it gently," she said. "Pass it on." Wisp went ahead, glowing, and the ferns closed softly behind them.
At the end of the path, one last lantern hung dark. It was the smallest one, low in a hollow of moss. Pia found a fern that still had a spark caught in it. She lifted the spark into her two hands and carried it across, very slowly, step by step. It wobbled. It did not fall. She tipped it into the little lantern, and the little lantern woke.
Now every light in the forest was lit. Pia sat down in the moss beside the smallest lantern. Her boots were wet. Her eyes were heavy. The trees stood all around her with their arms full of light. Wisp came down and down, slower than a feather falling. The glow at their edges went soft, the way a candle goes soft at the end of a long night.
Pia opened her hand. Wisp settled into it, warm and round and bright. "Hold it gently," Pia said, almost asleep. "Pass it on." Far away down the path, the lanterns dimmed one by one. The moss made room for her shoulders. The stars leaned closer through the branches to see. Pia held on, and did not let go, and the forest went quiet around her hand.
