Cass and the Lamp That Wanted to Shine

Shhh, went the clouds. Shhh, shhh, shhh. They slid past the window of Cass's little house on Soft Hill, soft as a blanket being pulled up to your chin.

Cass was a cloud fairy. She was no bigger than a teacup, with round cheeks and wings like two curls of steam. She lived high up in Cloud Kingdom, where the hills were made of cloud and the sunrise came very, very slowly.

Tonight was diwali. Cass knew, because the whole hill smelled of warm milk and fresh laundry, and because little clay lamps sat in a row on the windowsill. Diyas, they were called. Little bowls of clay with a soft wick inside.

Nico the mist sheep trotted over. Nico was made of cloud too, woolly and slow, and he smelled faintly of rain. "Are they lit?" asked Nico. "Not yet," said Cass. "Grandma lights them when the moon comes up."

Cass waited. She looked at the little lamps. She looked at the moon, shining up through the clouds from below, round and pale as a saucer of milk.

"Shhh," said the clouds. "Shhh, shhh, shhh."

Cass wiggled her toes. She hummed a small hum. She flopped on her back and watched the clouds go by. Then she sat up. "Waiting is long," she said.

"Waiting is long," said Nico. "But look." He nodded at the rangoli on the step, a swirl of soft petals and sugar, curl after curl.

So Cass counted the curls. One, two, three. She counted them again. She patted Nico's woolly back and it felt like patting a warm bath.

"Shhh," said the clouds. "Shhh, shhh, shhh."

Then Grandma came out with the little clay lamps in her arms. She set them along the step, one by one, and lit each wick with a long spill. Pop! went the first little flame. Pop! Pop! Two more.

Cass leaned close. Oh, the lamps were pretty. They glowed like tiny oranges. "Can I light one?" asked Cass. "Not yet," said Grandma, and she patted Cass's head. "This one needs to dry a moment more. Patience, little one."

Cass sighed a small sigh. She sat down beside the one dark lamp. It looked lonely without its glow.

"I know a game," said Nico. "We say the soft words and we wait together." So they said them. "Shhh," said Cass. "Shhh," said Nico. "Shhh, shhh, shhh."

While they said it, Cass found a sweet on a little plate, a round one rolled in sugar. She shared it with Nico. It was sticky and good.

Grandma came back with a warm towel and wrapped Cass up like a parcel. "Sweet, sweet," said Grandma. "Now try your lamp."

Cass held the long spill, careful and slow. She touched it to the wick. Pop! A little flame stood up, bright and round, and it wobbled, and then it held still.

"It waited for me," whispered Cass. "And I waited for it."

The moon shone up through the clouds. The diyas glowed along the step, a whole row of small warm suns. Neighbours came by with sweets on a tray, and everybody said sweet things and shared.

"Shhh," said the clouds. "Shhh, shhh, shhh."

Cass sat with her back against Nico's woolly side. Her lamp burned low and steady, humming its small warm hum. Yawn, went Cass. Yawn, went Nico.

The clouds slid past the window, soft as a blanket. The moon shone up from below. The little flames nodded, one, two, three. And Cass closed her eyes, warm and slow, and the whole hill went quiet and dim.