Once upon a time there was a little girl named Mila. She lived at the edge of a great, breathing forest, in a little wooden house with warm blankets and a small window that looked out on the trees. By day, Mila loved almost everything: the smell of rain, the rustle of the wind through the leaves, the crunch of leaves under her little boots, and the sound of her mama laughing at her papa's jokes. But one thing Mila found hard — the night. For when the sun sank behind the trees and the dark crept softly into the little house, she would suddenly feel very small, and she would think: now I am alone, and all the light is gone.
One evening, just before the little stars were about to shine in the sky, Mila heard something very soft at her window. A small, warm sound, as if someone were whispering with light. She opened her eyes and saw a tiny flame dancing in the dark. It was a little glow-worm, no bigger than a dewdrop, and it glowed so softly and so sweetly that for a moment Mila forgot her fear completely.
"Hello," said the little light, in a voice like a tiny bell. "I am Lumi. Why do you feel so small tonight, dear Mila?"
"Because it's dark," whispered Mila. "And in the dark all the light is gone."
Lumi laughed a little laugh of light and danced a circle around her nose. "Gone? Oh no. The light never goes away. Come, I'll show you something you've known all along — but have forgotten a little."
The little glow-worm floated just above Mila's chest and said very softly: "Put your hand here, where your heart beats. And close your eyes. Do you feel that? That warmth?"
Mila laid her little hand on her chest. And yes — there was something there. A warm, quiet glow, as if deep, deep inside a small candle were burning that she had never noticed.
"That," whispered Lumi, "is your light. And do you know the most wonderful thing? It never goes out. Not when it gets dark, not when you're afraid, not when you're very still. Not even when you forget it for a while. No — it truly never goes out. It just keeps on burning, waiting patiently until you remember it again."
Mila opened her eyes, wide with wonder. "Do I have a light of my own too? Just like you?"
"Everyone has one," said Lumi. "More than that: you are the light itself — we just don't see it, because we already are it. You are the light that was always there. That is the little fire in you that never goes out… some call it the infinite fire."
Then Lumi floated to the window and beckoned her over. "Look outside, dear Mila." And when Mila looked, she truly saw it: everywhere in the dark forest, tiny lights were glowing. An old owl with eyes like two little moons. The tips of the grass where the dew caught the starlight. A little fox slipping through the ferns with a soft shine in its fur. And far away, the moon drifted along in the water of the brook, as if she too had come to visit.
"The great tree outside your window carries it," whispered Lumi. "The smallest bit of moss on the stone — even the stone itself. We all carry the same light. That's why you are never truly alone, little Mila. We keep watch over one another's light, all night long."
And while Mila still lay with her hand on her heart, Lumi began to sing very softly. It was the song the glow-worms have sung since the very beginning, to help the children remember:
When the song was over, Mila no longer felt small. Her heart felt warm and wide and calm, and the dark around her no longer felt empty — it felt like a soft blanket full of little glowing friends.
"Will you stay with me?" she asked sleepily.
"I am always near," said Lumi. "And when you can't see me for a while, just lay your hand on your heart. Then you'll feel that your light is still there. And that it is me. And that it is you."
Mila smiled, kept her little hand on her chest, and fell asleep with her own light glowing softly within — the light that never, ever goes out.
Goodnight, little twinkle star. ✦