When the lights had all gone out, my neighbour called.
I looked around my home and found two lightbulbs left. One was bright like the morning star, the other just a dim little one.
I took a candle and the bright one over with me, it would give the needed light into the modernly designed home. The little one would do for this small old cottage I dwelt in. For now.
We lit the candle as I entered, held hands to support each other and fumbling along we reached the place we thought was best to place it.
It lit up as expected and the light filtered well into other rooms if you kept the doors open.
In the new dawn just rising, I watched from my window as the incandescent light could now be replaced with mornings rays streaming down from heaven.
When night would come once more, my neighbour, now a friend, would be able to trace back along our steps and flick a switch to illuminate the dark should they miss the sign of nightfalls arrival. Occasionally they ask if I have another candle.
Sometimes I sit under the dim light, the little one, happy in my ramshackle space and yet desire too, to feel the familiar radiance I see now shining from my friends home.
They said I must come around one day. I see silhouettes cast by the bright light, moving about a lot and I don’t like to intrude.
So I wait; I know my friend is busy, seeing clearer now and filling rooms with even brighter lights! I also know they look out the window too sometimes when the moon is out late, and see the light of the little one, still shining.