The Winter Lanterns

“Choose one,” she whispered. “Not the brightest. The one that knows where it is going.”

The child leaned over the black water and touched a paper lantern with one careful finger. It drifted toward the far door, carrying a tiny drawing of their house, the crooked chimney, and the blue mitten left behind in spring. Outside, snow pressed its face to the glass. By morning, the lantern had vanished, but warm footprints led from the pool to the waiting forest.