Milo and the Lantern Blossom

More about Milo and the Lantern Blossom

On a warm summer night, when the moon hung in the sky like a golden coin, the little field mouse Milo stood on a stone in the middle of a meadow. His brown coat fluttered gently in the night breeze, and at his side hung a tiny backpack filled with breadcrumbs, a thread, and a nut for snacking. Milo was a night wanderer, one of those rare mice who prefers to greet the moon rather than the sun. For Milo believed that the world told its true stories at night—in the shadows, in the rustling leaves, in the glow of the stars. That evening, Milo had one goal: to find the Lantern Blossom. It was said that it glowed only once a year, precisely when the moon was at its highest. Whoever found it, the old people said, could make a wish that didn't have to be spoken aloud—it would simply be understood in the heart. And Milo had a wish, as quiet and gentle as he was: He wanted to know where the light went when morning came. He set off through the tall grass, which reached almost above his ears. Dewdrops glittered everywhere like tiny mirrors, and crickets played a soft melody. On his way, he met an old moth resting on a daisy. "Where are you going, little wanderer?" asked the moth in a shaky voice. "To the lantern blossom," answered Milo. "Then follow the scent of the sleeping flowers," said the moth. "They always lean towards where the light of the blossom shines." Milo nodded gratefully and continued on. The path was long, and the moon shone faithfully like a silent friend. Finally, he came to a clearing bathed in a soft, golden glow. In its center grew a single flower, its petals sparkling like glass. It glowed from within, as if someone had placed a piece of moonlight inside it. Milo approached and felt how warm the light was—not hot, but friendly, like a reminder of comfort. He sat down in front of it, put down his backpack, and whispered, "I want to know where the light goes when morning comes." The flower was silent, but its glow began to flicker, as if it were breathing. Then a tiny spark fell from its center and landed on Milo's chest. There it stayed, glowed briefly, and disappeared. Milo smiled. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but he felt lighter, as if someone had given him a piece of heaven. He stayed until the first birds sang and the sky turned pink. As the sun rose, Milo noticed something miraculous: the flower's shadow continued to glow in the morning light, as if to say—the light never disappears, it only travels. Milo nodded, shouldered his backpack, and headed home. Since that night, it was said in the meadow that Milo was sometimes seen when the moon was bright—with a gentle glow on his chest, glowing from within. And whoever met him felt for a moment that even in the darkest night, some of the light we once found remains.