The Turtle and the Lanterns

Every evening,
just before dusk,
the old turtle appeared.

He walked through the village
lighting lanterns.

One beside the bakery.
One near the bridge.
Three along the market road.

And the last one
beneath the cedar tree
at the top of the hill.

No one remembered
exactly when he had begun.

By now,
the lanterns arrived
with evening itself.

Like mist.
Or cool air.

The turtle moved slowly.

Children often finished games
before he reached
the market road.

Still, he never hurried.

Each lantern
was cleaned carefully
before being lit.

Each flame adjusted
until it burned steadily.

One summer,
electric lights were installed
along the busiest streets.

Bright white globes
hung above the shops
and market stalls.

They flickered on instantly
with the pull of a switch.

The younger animals
admired them immediately.

The village felt brighter now.
Somehow sharper.

Shops stayed open later.
Footsteps moved faster
along the main roads.

The lanterns
along the quieter paths
seemed dimmer now.

The bridge path.
The hill road.
Even the narrow lane
behind the bakery.

But every evening,
the old turtle
continued lighting them.

Though now,
many animals passed by
without noticing.

Autumn came.
Then winter.

Finally, one evening,
the lanterns remained dark.

The busy streets
still glowed brightly.

But the bridge path
fell into shadow.

And beneath the cedar tree,
snow gathered quietly
in the empty dark.

Some animals
hardly noticed.

But others slowed
without knowing why.

Travelers crossed the bridge
a little faster
through the cold.

Children no longer lingered
on the hill road
after supper.

The next evening,
the lanterns
were still unlit.

Nor the evening after that.

Animals began to wonder
whether the old turtle
had given up.

Then on the fourth evening,
just before dusk,
a warm glow appeared
behind the bakery lane.

Then another
near the bridge.

And at last,
the lantern beneath
the cedar tree lit softly
against the snow.

The old turtle
moved slowly as ever,
leaning lightly
upon a wooden crutch.

Two children stood
beneath the cedar tree,
watching snowflakes turn gold
inside the lantern light.

And though the village
had brighter streets now,
the old paths
still seemed glad
to have their lanterns again.