A Signal
There’s a lantern in the trees at the end of the clearing behind my house. I can barely see it during the day, but at night it glows softly with a solar powered bulb until the energy gathered during the day is depleted. Then it goes to sleep along with the rest of us. The lantern is made of paper in the shape of a globe and is left over from the wedding of my cousin’s son from several years ago. The wedding in question was held further back in the woods in a small glade selected precisely for its woodland qualities.
My son was the one who pointed out the lantern to me after it had hung in the trees for nearly a week. I have no idea how I missed it, which speaks to the subtle qualities of the light, I suppose. Or my inattention. Anyway, I vowed to call and ask about the lantern. Of course, I didn’t want to seem as though I were complaining. That would hardly be neighborly. So, I let it go until yesterday when I took a walk down Back Forty road into the park to get the mail. The lantern was close at hand, so I made the call as I walked.
Turns out the lantern was put there for me. It seems that at some point in a conversation I had mentioned watching the pasture and thinking how cool it would be to see a meteorite land or an alien spaceship. My cousin’s husband thought the little lantern would look spacey, so he hung it in the tree and waited for the call. He was surprised I didn’t call sooner, I apologized for my dereliction of duty, and we had a good laugh. Now, whenever I look out the window and see the lantern, I know there is someone thinking of me, and I of them. Two people connected by a point of light hanging in a tree.
John W. Wilson is author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale