The Kept Flame

Nika walked along the garden wall at dusk. His small sandals brushed fallen jasmine. A lantern hung beside the stone gate. Its flame was low, but steady. Moths circled, then drifted away. Nika watched the wick drink one slow drop. He touched his chest and whispered. 'Lantern, why do you not burn brighter?' The lantern warmed the quiet air. 'I keep oil for the dark steps.' Nika sat beside it with folded knees. He said nothing for a long time. The gate stones turned gold.

A kept flame guides farther.