Latern Night
I am sitting in the kitchen, far away from my homeland. My small teapot, which bears the same pattern as the warmer, takes its place once again on the porcelain stove. A clicking sound. A small flame shoots out from the long barrel of the stick lighter. It seeks the wick that reaches out to it from the heart of the candle. For a moment, the fire caresses the small fuse. Then they are united, and it seems as if they are dancing together. While the tea steeps for a little while, I close the outdoor blinds. Outside, the last rays of sunshine are already blending with the oncoming darkness. As the first hot tea now flows into my cup, the little candle draws me into its spell. Today is the 10th of November, and the warm light awakens memories of a time I look back on with joy. Like a tender breath from the past, its glow rests upon my hands, and suddenly I feel the wooden stick as my fingers tightly clasp it.
A smile brushes across my face. I can still see the lantern stick in front of me, gripped tightly in my fist – and sometimes my second hand had to come to the rescue to hold the weight of the lantern at the end of the stick. Right in the middle, the small candle. In its glow, we children ventured out and carried its light from house to house. We could hardly wait until the church tower clock struck five. As if at a secret signal, the streets filled with colorful life. Carefully, I carried my lantern ahead of me. Like a small sun standing at the center of the universe, it lit my path. As if tiny stars had fallen from the sky, the lanterns danced through the cool, dark streets of our village.
The cold had joined forces with the blackness of the approaching night. But even that could not stop us children from ringing the doorbells and singing our songs. Warm air streamed out from the houses and brushed against our faces. Sometimes we were even allowed to sing inside the hallways, enjoying the cloak of warmth, heartfelt welcome, and cozy stove air. Our bags filled with apples, nuts, and all kinds of sweet treats. Eventually, the streets grew quiet, and I, too, returned to my childhood home. Right in the middle of the living room, the bag was emptied. I sat down on the carpet and sorted the wonderful gifts. And one thing I still know for certain: that my eyes shone with pride and joy as that evening drew to a close.
