Lena Lights the First Match — Under the quiet edge of the woods, Lena cupped one match in her mitten and counted three breaths. Read the full story →
Under the quiet edge of the woods, Lena cupped one match in her mitten and counted three breaths. She had promised herself she would light the lantern alone before the moon reached the bare oak branch. The pumpkin smelled of damp earth and sweet pulp, and its carved grin waited wide and dark. “Just one spark,” she whispered, though her thumb trembled against the rough little matchbox.
Scritch. The match bloomed blue, then gold. Lena touched it to the candle wick, and the flame stood up small and brave. Above her, acorns clicked in the branches, leaves dragged softly over the grass, and round berries shone like tiny watching eyes. She stayed still, learning how courage could feel as quiet as warm wax.
Then the twist came: the lantern was not only shining out. Its light caught the pale undersides of the leaves and flashed back in little pieces, branch to branch, berry to berry, until the woodland edge seemed to be answering. Lena laughed once, very softly. The pumpkin kept its golden grin, and next time you notice the candle in its mouth, see if you can find the first spark Lena dared to make.
