Mira and the Welcome That Was Too Bright

Mira kept the seven lanterns of Aster Bridge. Gold meant WELCOME. Blue meant REST. Violet meant SHARE THE WATCH. Mira polished every glass pane until the stars could see themselves. She knew what every color meant. Most nights, she knew what she meant too.

Then the quiet season came. Mira lit one blue lantern. REST, it said. The bridge rested so well that Mira could hear her own teacup cool. No cloud-skiffs tied their ribbons to the rail. No paper boats asked which way was morning. No winged travelers shook rain from their coats.

On the seventh quiet night, Mira climbed the first tower. “Perhaps,” she told the wick, “everyone forgot the road.” She turned the blue glass to gold. Then she climbed the second tower. And the third. By midnight, all seven lanterns shouted WELCOME across the Cat Sea. Mira’s shadow looked less lonely.

Far away, a cloud-skiff changed course. A paper flotilla folded its maps. Three rain-mice opened silver umbrellas. “Aster Bridge is awake!” they called. A tired crane, a cinnamon tortoise, and a family of pocket-sized comets followed the gold road. Mira heard them coming. Her heart became a second lantern.

Travelers arrived from every direction. “Where may I tie my cloud?” “Which rail points north?” “Have you seen Tuesday?” “Welcome,” she said. “May we dry our sparks?” Mira tied ribbons, turned maps, found Tuesday, and held a copper bowl beneath the comets. Then again. Then faster.

Mira carried blankets with her left hands. She mended umbrellas with her right hands. The gold lanterns burned hotter. Their bright roads crossed. She answered seven questions while climbing six stairs and remembering five names. Cloud-ribbons tangled with paper masts. Tuesday got lost again.

“More gold will help,” Mira said. She opened every lantern door. The bridge flashed white. Every traveler became a shadow. Every road disappeared inside the brightness. Then seven wicks went out at once. Darkness settled softly, as if it had been waiting for a chair.

No one complained. The rain-mice closed their umbrellas. The crane folded one long leg. The smallest comet sat beside Mira. “I wanted not to feel forgotten.” “I wanted the bridge to sound full,” Mira whispered. “Did you want all of us?” asked the comet. Mira looked at the knots, the tired faces, and her blistered hands.

The cinnamon tortoise found one unbroken blue pane. The paper sailors untied one cloud-ribbon. No one asked Mira to welcome them. “Rest,” she said. The rain-mice caught seven quiet drops in seven lantern cups. They simply shared the dark. For the first time that night, Mira heard what the bridge needed.

Together they lit one blue lantern. Under its calm road, the cloud-skiff found a post. They lit one violet lantern. Not seven. Under its patient road, the paper sailors took the first watch. Last, Mira lit one gold lantern. One warm welcome was bright enough to be true.

Before dawn, Mira painted a color wheel on the bridge rail. Gold for WELCOME. Blue for REST. Violet for SHARE THE WATCH. It also had room for quiet. The travelers added small marks beside the colors: a ribbon, a raindrop, a feather, a paper sail, and one comet spark. The bridge had room for company.

The next quiet season came. Mira lit one blue lantern. Across the Cat Sea, six distant lights answered blue. No one hurried toward her. No one had forgotten her. Mira drank her tea while it was warm. At midnight, one distant light turned violet. Mira smiled and turned hers violet too. Two keepers shared the watch from opposite shores. Between them, the dark was not empty. It was a road with the lamps turned low.