Lanterns Between Branches

Some writings belong to the day, bright and unhidden. Others belong to the night, slipping between branches like shy lanterns. You do not always notice them at once. They pause, flicker, wait.

But if you stand still long enough—if you hush your pulse and let your eyes adjust—you’ll see them hanging everywhere. In the small pauses of your thought. In the spaces where a crow’s wing folds the wind.

Lanterns do not choose who sees them. They simply shine where they are hung. But a reader who learns to pause, who learns to tilt their head at the right angle, may gather more than they expected.

Not more than is given—only more than is usually seen.

And so the branches glow with shy lights, and the path between them is never as dark as you fear.

—

When branches lean together,
even shadows share their glow.
A lantern is not brighter for being found,
only nearer.

–A