The Candle in the Snow Shaina Tranquilino December 16, 2024
A fierce winter storm raged through the mountains, howling winds whipping snowflakes into the air. A lone traveler trudged through the blizzard, his steps slow and heavy, each one a battle against the freezing cold. His cloak was soaked, his boots nearly buried in the ever-deepening snow. The path had disappeared hours ago, swallowed by the relentless storm.
His body ached with exhaustion, and just as he thought he could go no further, a faint light caught his eye. Through the snow, barely visible, flickered the warm glow of a candle. Intrigued, he stumbled toward it, his heart quickening with hope.
The candle stood alone on a small stone pedestal, a soft flame dancing despite the howling wind. Its light, pure and steady, seemed to cut through the storm, guiding the way forward. He reached out, instinctively sheltering it from the wind as he approached. There was no one in sight, only the vast, snow-covered wilderness surrounding him.
Curious, the traveler stepped closer, and as he did, the snow seemed to soften beneath his feet. The cold that had clung to his bones began to melt away, replaced by an inexplicable warmth. The ground, once icy and harsh, had turned smooth and inviting, leading him toward a grove of ancient trees. Their trunks were covered in shimmering frost, but they stood tall and unbowed, as if protecting something sacred.
He followed the light of the candle until, at last, the storm seemed to vanish altogether. The wind quieted, the snow ceased to fall, and before him appeared a hidden sanctuary. It was a glade unlike any he had ever seen—glowing with an ethereal light that seemed to come from the earth itself. A crystal-clear pond reflected the stars above, and delicate flowers bloomed in the most unlikely of places, their petals shimmering in the candlelight.
At the center of the glade stood a small, humble cottage, its windows aglow with warmth and life. The door opened, and an old woman stepped out, her face soft with a knowing smile.
“You have followed the light,” she said gently, her voice like the rustling of leaves. “Welcome to the sanctuary. Here, weary travelers find rest, and those lost in the storm find their way.”
The traveler, overwhelmed with awe, looked back toward the storm. But it was gone. The world was still and quiet, wrapped in a peaceful calm. He had wandered far from the familiar, yet in this magical place, he felt at home.
The woman gestured for him to enter, and as he stepped inside the cottage, the warmth of the fire embraced him, the smell of herbs and wildflowers filling the air. The candle, still burning brightly, had led him here, to a place where time seemed to slow, and the chaos of the world outside could not touch him.
And so, the traveler found sanctuary, not just from the storm, but from the burdens he had carried for so long. He sat by the fire, the flickering candle casting gentle shadows on the walls, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to rest.
In the heart of the snowstorm, the lone candle had guided him to a place of peace. And in its light, he discovered that sometimes, the most magical journeys are the ones that lead us home.
