http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/lanterns-chinese-festival/

There were two kinds of light that lit the sky. Not every day, of course. Just on this particular day. And while Zhulong appreciated the daylight draped over the town center so early in the day, it was the second kind of light, the kind that would come tonight, that he vastly preferred.

Security wouldn’t be needed at the event. Even the most dedicated trouble-makers left well enough alone during the Lantern Lift. It wasn’t strictly necessary for Zhulong to don his uniform and short-cane and patrol the grounds. But he volunteered anyway because it was better than sitting around his house, waiting for night to fall.

It was his twelfth year in this town. Zhulong had a streak of wanderlust in him, something his mother had bemoaned from the moment she identified it that day when he was 8 and walked from his grandparents’ house through the neighboring woods and ended up at the grocery store stuck from head to toe in brambles and tales of adventure. She bemoaned Zhulong’s wanderlust at length until the day he packed his bags and left to explore the country. While he didn’t know for sure, he was certain she went on bemoaning it after that, but it was to the card table ladies rather than to him. That was about as good an improvement on the situation as he could hope to find.

Twelve years settled in this town. He still took some trips here and there, but he suspected his wanderlust had ebbed somewhat as he aged. He wondered how much of that original itch came from his hometown. Maybe he was just a young man in an ill-fitting suit, and he needed to find one that hung from his shoulders just right. And maybe this town was it.

He’d seen a lot in the heart of his travel years. In the smallest towns and in the largest cities, he’d scrutinized the Lantern Lift festival. He felt some kind of connection to it. His mother would say it was because of the name she gave him, the name of a mostly forgotten dragon god of day and night. From his mountaintop, the dragon controlled daylight by opening and closing his eyes.

Zhulong thought about that every year. He wondered if the old dragon god would see the festival as an affront, when the skies above the entire country were lit in the middle of the night.

Hours from now, after the last traces of sunlight melted behind the western horizon, after the old dragon god closed his eyes to bring back the night, the square in the town center would throb with people. Everyone would show up. The deacon would hand out the blessed candles, one to each of the town’s children. The parents and grandparents and assorted onlookers would crowd around the perimeter while the children took up their positions under the lanterns.

Zhulong stepped onto the stage and looked out onto the modest square. He could picture how it would look; shuffling, nervous feet, whispered instructions from the sidelines, and the deacon, smile a mile wide, patting the kids on the shoulder and reminding everyone to relax. He liked this deacon. His first year at the temple was also twelve years ago. Zhulong wondered if that meant anything. Probably not. He’d been a lot of places, and in his time traveling he’d seen his fair share of coincidences.

That was all preamble, of course. The best part came next, after the deacon said a few words, after the parents had snapped their photos and the grandparents had warmed up their bones with a nip of whiskey. That is when the light show would begin.

It was hours away, but Zhulong still felt a little glimmer of excitement bloom in his chest. It was a beautiful sight. The kids would say the words, they would light the candles and, for a few moments, the entire country would hold its breath. Flames would dance at the candles’ edge, chaotic grasps at the oxygen-rich air. Then they would break free and a hundred little pockets of light would float upwards into the lanterns.

The dark, spotted with yellow light, would instantly glow with warm red and pale, comforting yellow. And then the air inside the lanterns would heat up and would, as air must do when heated, demand to rise. Then the lanterns would rise.

The sky across the country would then swarm with the wanderings of the Lantern Lift. In the smallest towns with central squares even smaller than this one to the big cities of the coast with dozens of squares and thousands upon thousands of lanterns, everyone who turn their eyes to the heavens. They would watch the lanterns shed the earth’s constant pull and float into the sky, taking light into the world of dark.

It was the most beautiful sight. And even though it happened every year, it never failed to amaze Zhulong, to stir up feelings in him he knew he’d never be smart enough to describe. He didn’t know if everyone felt that way, but he hoped they did. He didn’t want to live in a world where that feeling was his and his alone, some strange thread tied to his namesake.

He hoped he was wrong about the dragon, too. He hoped the great beast did not take tonight’s festival as an insult to his duty. Zhulong hoped that, somewhere in those distant mountains, on that forgotten peak, the dragon closed his eyes to bring the night and smiled and slept peacefully in the knowledge that the people could handle lighting the world, only if for tonight.